A Very Modern Arrangement
by Kavan
Summary: After his injury and her engagement, Matthew and Mary move forward. Chapter 30 is up!
1. Chapter 1

A Very Modern Arrangement

I was working on Duration, but then the first line of this came to me and I HAD to write it. Let me know if I should continue. And all fanfic is met with a choice seat at one of Rosamund's gatherings.

.~.~.~.~.'

It was not easy to keep up one's mood when one was impotent, crippled and stinking of sick. And increasingly Matthew Crawley found that he was all three. In the weeks after his transfer to Downton, Matthew had gone about the business of slowly but surely letting all the old dreams go. Gone was the idea of himself as a husband. Goodbye to the notion of himself as a father. Adieu to the role of heir to Downton. So long even to himself as a free, independent member of society. Hello to the bright new future where he felt nothing below his stomach, a place where a not dead Patrick was again the once and future Lord Grantham, where he could move only as far as his chair would transport him. It was beyond even the worst of his fears and unimaginable in any kind of fashion. Dying would have been one thing, living like this was quiet another.

And increasingly his living was made all the harder by the continued presence of one who had once brought him such happiness…Lavinia Swire. The sweetheart of his wartime dreams had returned yet again to Downton. Once again full of sweet promises and vows of eternal devotion. Vows he had spent weeks trying to slice to ribbons. And yet she returned again and again, like a pin he could never bowl down. He knew he was supposed to be melting at her words, made teary by her promises by the depths of her love. Intellectually, he reproached himself for not feeling such things. Emotionally however he wanted a sick bucket.

"Lavinia," He said in his coldest, most impersonal voice.. "We have discussed this time after time." He hoped he did not sound as peevish as he felt. Once she had brought him a kind of effervescent joy, now it was all irritation and frustration. It was if they were trapped in a circle of conversation of her promising and him rejecting. He would have to ask Sybil or Edith which Austen novel Lavinia believed herself trapped in…

"And we will go on discussing it until you see sense."

"Until I give way, you mean." He said tiredly. "I won't. I can't. It wouldn't be fair."

"And is it fair to me…" She asked stridently, angrily. "To reject me, toss me aside. I love you Matthew."

"I believe you do, but love could not last in my state. You'd grow bitter, angry. I'd feel hurt and rejected."

"I do not believe that would happen." She said decidedly.

He looked off into the distance. "Well I do and so we are back where we always are…Your promises and my conviction." He decided they were beginning to sound like characters in an overly verbose, repetitive Victorian novel.

Lavinia stared at him for a long moment before announcing desperately, "I think I will die without you." She punctuated her words by bursting into tears.

Matthew felt a wave of anger coursing through his veins. "How dare you say that!" He said passionately, "You will not die. You will move on." He said tensely, "And the fact you could speak of death here of all places." He shook his head, "Just go! Go back to London. Go anywhere." He released the brake on his chair and rolled away as fast as he could roll toward the house, wishing his legs would let him run. He could not get far enough away from her and her protestations, but mostly just her. As he rolled into the house he sighed hoping, praying really that she would not follow. But even as he thought that voices raised in the library drew his attention.

.~.~.~.~.'

"You have given me the power to destroy you." Richard noted determinedly. "Do not imagine that I have the slightest compunction to use that power."

Mary faced him realizing late far to late what she had ignored far to easily. She had been bemused by his actions, pushed aside his impudence and tactlessness. Drawn to his ruthlessness, she had again wrongly guessed the intentions of a suitor. Pamuk, again except Pamuk had the decency to expire. Sir Richard seemed capable of tormenting her for decades. "I know you won't" She said quietly.

"We will be married and you will behave appropriately. And if you do not."

"I KNOW!" Mary declared near tears, "I know! I let a man into my bed and I go on paying and paying."

"Do not be so dramatic my darling." Richard replied coolly as if watching the second act of a comedy that no longer amused him. "You will find it a velvet prison. A house of your own, a place in society, wealth beyond even your greediest of imaginings."

"I am the furthest thing from greedy." Mary said defiantly, "Gullible and a miserable judge of character, certainly."

"I am very glad you are, otherwise I would not have you. And I will have you." He stepped closer backing her against the wall and moving to seize her mouth and force it open.

Instinctively as if following some biological urge Mary bit down hard and felt blood spluttering into her mouth.

Richard fell backward stunned by her actions. "You'll pay for that!" He said angrily placing his handkerchief against his lip, trying to stem the flow of blood.

"I am certain I will!" She said near hysterically. Richard gave her one final furious glance then hurriedly fled from the library.

.~.~.~.~.'

Toward the climax of the scene, Matthew had instinctively rolled his chair backwards, into a corner. In his anger, Richard hurried by him without ever seeming to notice Matthew at all. Matthew figured a great many people passed Richard Carlisle without his noticing. Still, he dismissed the thought, rolling toward the door that Carlisle had thoughtlessly left open. Carlisle did not matter one single jot to him. All that mattered was making certain Mary never had to spend one more instant in that beast's company. Rolling inside the library he saw Mary doubled over openly sobbing, her back turned to him. Reaching he just managed to shut the door, causing her to straighten her posture.

"Richard!" Mary recoiled angrily, "ENOUGH!"

"It's not Richard." A smooth cool voice replied.

She did not need to turn, She would recognize that voice anywhere. "Matthew," Her voice was broken, which she thought rather matched her spirit. She tried to quiet her sobs, making no effort to turn or in any fashion suggest he had her attention.

"He's beastly." Mary thought this a great understatement. "Is he forcing you?"

"My mistakes are forcing me." She said despondently. Wanting to alter the topic she quickly put in, "I see Lavinia is back. I hope you're being nice to her."

"As a matter of fact I was not."

His tone was clipped and cold, and it pained Mary to realize it grew more so virtually everyday. "If you are not careful Matthew, your role as the noble one of us may become tarnished."

"I do not care for nobility, I just want peace."

"Good luck finding that." Mary said.

"Original question," He said bullish and determined. "Do you really want to marry Carlisle?"

Mary sighed feeling suddenly utterly tired. "I seem to have no way around it."

"So dramatic," Matthew clucked seriously. "Of course you have a choice."

"If I don't marry him." She mentally edited her sentence uncertain precisely what he had heard, desperate not to give him any more ammunition than he had. "He will reveal something that will finish our family."

"That a man slept in your bed." Matthew said, and she could tell he was editing his words, parsing them out carefully. She thought too he seemed distracted as if only half conscious of the meaning behind his words.

"Pamuk," She said.

He opened and closed his eyes and then shook his head. "It is of no matter to me." She wanted to ask so much, needed to know how he of all people could say such words. Instead she remained silent, unwilling even now to ask any questions. "I mean that. That part of my life is over."

"Is it that easy?"

"It is the hardest thing in the world." He said tightly. His jaw set and he forced himself on saying, "But its is the only way to set myself forward."

"So no marriage to Lavinia."

"No, nor any real marriage."

Mary felt her lips quirking upward, "So you want no marriage, and I'm being dragged into one with a man I cannot stand. Funny…" She looked close to tears again.

Matthew meant to roll toward her but his chair stuck on the carpet. "Mary," He said softly, "Come to me." And she did crossing the room and lowering herself, embracing him awkwardly and thinking it did not feel even slightly awkward.

They stayed like that for some moments before Mary pulled away, "You have troubles enough of your own. You do not require me piling mine upon you."

"It seems mine are much the same as yours." His brow creased and she recognized he was deep in thought. "Perhaps," He suggested looking up at her, "The solution lies together."

Mary looked at him uncomprehending, "What are you thinking?"

"Marriage." He said looking decided. "A different sort of marriage. Platonic. Absent any romance or even the idea of romance."

"What are you saying?" Mary asked fearing she understood, but afraid she could not possibly be correct.

He was suddenly smiling and cheerful, full of every kind of good cheer. "I do think we could pull this off."

"Pull what off?" She asked feeling more and more confused by his words and his sudden cheer.

"In a few years we could quietly separate, you could marry whoever you want, Lavinia would surely have moved on by then. Yes, this could work." As if decided he said, "Mary Crawley will you spend the next few years of your life with me?"

Mary laughed, a tired exhausted laugher that she was certain one could find located in mental asylums across the country. "Whatever are you saying?"

"You must be free of Carlisle," Merely saying the word caused him to scowl, "I need Lavinia to move past me. Don't you see if you could spare a year or two then this could work."

"You cannot mean!" She was absolutely certain she knew and afraid to hope it could possibly be true.

"I'd go down on one knee, but this isn't going to be that type of marriage, and beside you would merely have to haul me back into the chair." Looking at her with an intense expression Matthew said, "Marry me."

Feeling suddenly dizzy, Mary stumbled toward a chair trying to relocate a world that seemed to be spinning around her rather like a child's top. She heard Matthew call her name and saw him pushing himself toward her, this time overcoming the rug. "I'm sorry Mary, I know I am putting this badly…but I can be there for you and you can be there for me. And don't worry, whenever you meet a man you want to marry, I'll give the quickest kind of separation and divorce." He smiled almost cheekily saying, "I'll even arrange a tidy fake romance to facilitate matters." The offer should have been offensive, but it was so endearingly delivered Mary felt she could easily cry. And despite the words it felt like a welcome glimpse of a happier Matthew.

"But what about you? What happiness do you get?"

Matthew took a deep breath and looked away, "That is all over for me. And having you around helping me get through this adjustment period will make a awful time, slightly more bearable."

Mary smiled in spite of herself, "Well you know Matthew, I've always wanted to make someone's life slightly more bearable."

.~.~.~.~.'

Just after seven the family gathered in the drawing room for drinks. Carlisle was telling a ponderous story about himself, Lavinia was sitting quietly speaking to Edith and Patrick, while Cora and Robert stood by the mantle glancing about them nervously.

"Are you quite certain that Mary is not upstairs." Robert whispered careful to keep a faux smile plastered across his face.

"Perfectly." Cora answered coolly. "Still, I sent Anna up for another look."

Robert shook his head, "It is terribly inconvenient. I rather count on her to manage Carlisle."

"Yes. Though the idea of her enduring a lifetime with him."

"I know." Robert agreed. "It does chill the blood. I do hope Mary knows what she is entering into."

Cora played with the beads of her necklace, "I fear she believes she has no choice."

Robert was about to inquire as to meaning of her words but before he could, Anna slipped back into the room. "Was she upstairs?" He asked hopefully. "Or Lady Sybil?" He asked realizing his other daughter should have been upstairs as well.

"No." Anna said plainly. "And begging your pardon but Miss Edith just received a telegram.

Edith rose, "A telegram.. I cannot imagine who would have sent me a telegram."

Annoyed with the situation and Ethel's false dramatics Robert snapped angrily, "Open it!"

Edith frowned clearly displeased not to be allowed to enjoy a dramatic moment, and feeling reasonably certain that Mary and Sybil would be allowed their moments. Trying to push aside the mood, Edith ripped the envelope open and read the note, once then read it again. Her eyes grew larger, telegraphing her surprise. "Its from Granny." She noted distractedly clearly reading the note again.

Robert watched her finally saying, "Tell us Edith."

She looked up saying not unhappily, "She's in London."

"London." Robert said in surprise. "Whatever is she doing in London."

"She went there this afternoon with Isobel, Sybil, Mathew, and Mary." Edith paused dramatically for a moment before continuing, "She says that Mary and Matthew were married this afternoon with Isobel, Sybil, and Aunt Rosamund, and herself as witnesses."


	2. Chapter 2

A Very Modern Arrangement Chapter 2

It was the way of the world, marry a harlot and she shall surely become frigid. Abandon a frigid bride and she will turn harlot in short order. Women are forever confounding ones expectation and quite often in the worst way imaginable or so a great many bachelors secretly believed. And like many bachelors, Sir Richard Carlisle fancied he knew a great deal about the inferior sex. Much to his chagrin, Lady Mary Crawley had confounded each and every belief he had regarding the nature of women. He believed her a frigid virgin, only to discover she had taken a lover. He thought her greedy and materialist, only to see her reject him for a middle class cripple. He believed her a slave to duty and expectations, and she bucked both running off with another man. Richard considered that were he to run such a story in his papers, he would be accused of publishing fiction.

The role of cuckolded suitor, particularly being cuckolded by an impotent cripple, did not suit his nature. Riding back to London on the early train, Richard watched the dawn knife apart the darkness of night, but found his mood remaining grim. From the day, Mary had confessed her past, he had viewed her differently. She was spoilt goods, but he had counseled himself that he had spoilt many a maiden so he could not much object to her status. Besides having a wife with a past would only advance his reputation, and hopefully his circulation. He had intended to marry her, bring her to society as his wife, give her the trinkets and toys that women so desired. Now all of that had been turned to ash.

Oh his competitors would make hay with this, he had no doubt. He would be held up as a laughingstock. He could stomach that, one did not achieve his position while caring overtly or for that matter much at all for the adoration of others. Still, he did not intend to allow Mary or her bridegroom even a moment of happiness. He would smear their names across every newspaper he owned, inform society of her misdeeds, of her impotent groom's status, embarrass and malign them so that no member of decent society would ever admit them to any gathering or event. As the train clicked along, he began concocting a plan to ensure their ruination. Almost at once, he felt a smile ghosting his lips and viewed the dawn with an increasingly cheerful countenance.

.~.~.~.~.'

At virtually the same moment, Mary's eyes opened to the sunlight streaming through the windows at Grantham House, hearing the sound of a Jay chirping just beyond the sash. Stretching her limbs, she felt a delicious happiness sweeping across her body, like the first refreshing rain of spring. For so long during the war and more recently during her engagement, Mary had met the dawn with a muted dread. Days had been something to endure, rather than welcome. Now the war was mercifully over, her beastly engagement terminated and somehow she was married and married to Matthew. It felt utterly like a new life and one most welcome. Glancing down at her finger she smiled at the simple band. "Welsh gold," Matthew had said passed down his mother's side of the family and now resting comfortably on her finger and she thought fitting as if just sized for her….

The thought of Matthew caused her to push the covers back and hurry across the room, throwing open the door to the dressing area with a unreserved, "Good morning husband!" Seeing no one she called, "Matthew?" Almost at once, she noticed that the bed was already remade, the room empty, absent the slightest clue he had ever slept there… The domestic scene felt like a kind of omen, and she felt her cheer dampen even as the day brightened.

.~.~.~.~.'

To say that the news of Lady Mary and Matthew Crawley's marriage had rather stunned the household was putting things rather mildly. Upon hearing the news, the entire household both above and below stairs had fallen into a quarter of an hour of almost silent shock and obvious discomfort. Then after Carlisle had stormed upstairs, and Edith and Anna had helped a weeping Lavinia upstairs, the family and servants had exchanged private, pleased expressions. Only Lady Edith upstairs, and Mrs. Hughes downstairs had said they rather thought Matthew could have done better. Otherwise, the household had felt a reserved pleasure at the marriage, albeit tinged with a certain expectation of difficulties to come.

The mood had carried over the following morning at breakfast, where Lady Edith was enjoying the atypical status of only child, and center of her parents entire attention.

Pleased as she was with the situation, Edith could not allow a chance to rail against her sister pass without comment. "How like Mary," Edith declared tiredly, "Leaving us with her jilted fiancée and her bridegroom's hysterical fiancée to tend to, while she rolls off to a London honeymoon."

"I thought you liked Lavinia." Cora said taking a sip of her tea. Typically she avoided breakfast preferring to start her day in a quieter fashion, but the situation had clearly upturned her typical routines. Also, she thought it best to remain on a kind of alert for whatever event happened next. Between Matthew's injury, Patrick's return, and now Mary and Matthew's marriage she felt her life to be careening on the rockiest of seas.

"I do very much, but her repeated visits have been a bit much." Edith said sighing.

"Well I'm quite certain that is over now." Seeing Edith's dubious expression, Cora added concernedly, "You cannot imagine she will still persist."

"Well she has shown heroic efforts in that direction thus far." Edith pronounced having decided that she rather liked breakfast with her parents minus her sisters. Mary was forever making sarcastic jabs and Sybil sucking up the room with innocence and sweetness. Having the entire room focused on her was perfectly right, Edith decided.

"Lavinia does not worry me." Robert said somberly. "Carlisle will be our problem."

"According to Mrs. Hughes, he left hours ago." Cora noted lifting her cup. "I suppose it is to much to hope he will move on gracefully."

"Rather," Edith said pointedly taking a sip of her tea to prolong the drama of the moment. She had seen Mary pull the trick dozens of times, and Edith had to admit it was one of her better routines. At length seeing both her parents attention settled wholly upon her, Edith said, "Matthew sent a message for Carlisle to meet him at Grantham House this morning at ten.

"They are at Grantham House." Cora questioned holding her tea cup aloft, "Well I am glad about that. Did you tell them to use it Robert?"

"Dear Lord," Robert said. "It did not even occur to me last evening."

"I telephoned Rosamond's last night," Patrick announced matter of factly as he entered the room clutching some envelopes with his un-bandaged fingers. "I invited them to stay at Grantham House. Insisted really."

Edith paled saying irritably, "Why would you do that?"

"Why would any decent person not do it?" Patrick glanced over at Robert, "I apologize if I overstepped, but I feared you might be to busy to consider that detail."

"Indeed I was," Robert agreed. "It was kind of you to be so thoughtful."

Patrick's exposed burned features twisted into an almost smile, "I could hardly imagine the thought of them left alone to honeymoon on the streets."

"Some of us rather liked that idea." Edith murmured to herself, feigning confusion when her parents glanced meaningfully at her.

.~.~.~.~.'

Entering the morning room, Mary radiated cool poise greeting Matthew warmly, "Good morning, my darling." Matthew looked up in surprise. Hus furrowed browed, caused Mary to whisper, "The servants."

"Right you are my dear." He agreed vaguely. "Did you rest well?"

"Better than you." Mary said pretending to glance at the newspaper. "You were up when I came to check on you."

"Did you feel I would require checking?" The question was nicely put, but there was an edge of irritation. A sense that Matthew believed others felt he did indeed need checking, and found it intrusive and galling.

"It seemed the wifely thing to do," Mary replied smoothly.

Matthew seemed to consider her words for a moment before saying only, "The trenches." Seeing her confused expression, he said by way of explanation. "I sleep poorly."

"Why didn't you wake me?"

If anything his expression reflected befuddlement as he said, "Why ever would I do that?"

He said adding pointedly, "I do not require a companion or nurse and I am capable of dressing myself."

Mary found his last bit confusing but soldiered on, "Perhaps I just wanted to see you. Perhaps I was feeling somewhat relieved to wake in a morning without the burden of an unwanted marriage heavy upon me. Perhaps oh I don't' know." She made show of appearing utterly indifferent saying quietly, "I tell you pay no attention to the things I say." She turned to the window studying the activities of the busy street.

Matthew peered at her for a long moment before saying, "I've sent a note to Carlisle to meet me here later this morning." Mary turned around, her entire body clearly tensed by his news. "It has to be done." He said brokering no room for an argument.

"I cannot imagine why…"

"If I learned nothing in the Army, I learned the value of taking the offensive." As if wanting to press his point the added, "Carlisle is a loaded gun, our only hope is to lessen his ammunition."

"You believe you can lessen it?" Mary asked sounding deeply skeptical. "You are an optimist."

He regarded her oddly saying, "Hardly." His tone was dismissive rather than cold, still it unnerved her. "I do believe there are practical reasons why Carlisle may find it best to drop whatever schemes he has conjured."

Mary pored herself a cup of tea, less because she wanted any refreshment…simply wanting something to do, something to distract her from Matthew's words. Still, she felt the need to say,

"Richard is hardly a practical man. He has built his piles of money on risk. I hardly think he will feel any restraint in avenging his humiliation."

"He hardly need feel humiliated, or at least that will be my tact, suggesting that he can spin this saga in a fashion that makes him quite heroic."

Mary took a sip of her tea saying blandly, "He will certainly embrace that ideal."

"You do trust me to handle this…situation?"

Mary remained silent weighing the question. "I have unparalleled faith in your abilities, and unparalleled knowledge of Richard Carlisle's penchant for cruelty and machination."

Matthew watched her for a moment an inscrutable expression crossing his face, "You may be surprised at the changes war has wrought upon me."

Mary seemingly staring off into space, while actually watching him offered, "I can stay by your side, assist you…"

"I do not require assistance in all areas of life, merely because I am confined to this chair."

"I did not mean," Mary sighed fretfully, "I certainly did not intend…."

Matthew's jaw set and he purposefully turned the chair, rolling it toward the window lest he be forced to endure facing her. "I will handle matters myself. You need not worry."

Mary watched him for a minute saying, "Perhaps I like…." But the sentence turned to dust in her mouth and she turned and walked out of the room and up the stairs.

.~.~.~.~.'

"I do believe the role of matchmaker just suits me." Rosamund boasted happily causing Violet to eye her most dubiously. "Really Mama you must admit that I handled all the preparations for the wedding perfectly."

"I agree to nothing." Violet replied adding piquedly, "And had you not interfered years ago they could have had a perfectly lovely wedding."

Rosamond shrugged her shoulders, "Never less I was able to arrange their marriage beautifully. It is a mystery why more of my friends do not summon me to assist with their romantic travails."

Violet peered over her tea cup saying sourly, "I have several ideas why they do not…"

"You will stay a fortnight." Rosamond insisted pointedly. "I am having a dinner for them. And it will look more natural if you and Sybil are present. Do you think we can induce Robert off the estate?"

"I cannot imagine why not. Though I am equally puzzled why you feel the need for a dinner."

Rosamond sighed thinking it was very tiresome to be saddled with a family where you had to go on and on explaining every little thing. "Mama, we have to acknowledge the marriage before society."

"As you wish," Violet said dismissively, "It's not as if you will not have your way."

Rosamond smiled blissfully, "Mama I am so glad you have finally accepted that."

"I did not say I accepted it."

Rosamond pursed her lips, but had no chance to respond, as the butler entered intoning "Mrs. Crawley."

"Mary," Rosamond said rising to greet her niece with a kiss on the cheek, "We certainly did not anticipate seeing you today."

Violet watched the door frame expecting to see Matthew walk, no she corrected herself roll in behind his wife. "Where is Matthew? You have not quarreled already?"

Mary sighed worriedly saying only, "Richard Carlisle." And with those words all three women took on concerned expressions and the mood became grave.

.~.~.~.~.'

Tapping the toe of his shoe over the heavy carpet, Richard Carlisle waited impatiently for Matthew. He had been shown in to Grantham House, offered tea and cake, informed that Mr. Crawley would soon be down. That was, he flicked open his pocket watch, a quarter of an hour ago. With each minute Richard felt his irritation growing. Bad enough that this blackguard had humiliated him, making him the laughing stock of Downton. But to now keep him waiting like an errant schoolboy…it was monstrous. He was half a mind to brandish a weapon, seek physical satisfaction.

Even as the thought stuck him, the door opened and Matthew wheeled himself into the room. "Good morning sir, I do apologize for the wait." He said wheeling himself behind the desk.

Richard bristled at his officiousness, as if this was a mere social appointment. "It takes a good deal of cheek inviting me here under the circumstances."

Matthew looked up from the documents on the desk retorting coolly, "Please do drop the wounded suitor performance."

His words caused Richard to sit up bristling, "I don't believe…"

"There is a nice word for men like you… persuasive I'd imagine you would prefer, or we can use the correct term blackmail. You used a threat of exposure to force a young girl to become engaged, and clearly continued to use the threat to push her toward the alter." Matthew said coolly continuing before Richard could respond. "I shudder to think what you might have done to her during the marriage."

"My," Richard said appreciatively, "The slut has quite a defender in the impotent fool." He watched, waiting for Matthew's response, he saw nothing.

"Impotent fool," Matthew chuckled seemingly bemused by Richard's terms. "Thomas used that once, I thought a man of letters would be considerably more inventive." He clucked sounding disappointed. "But I do hear that your sheets are the worst kind of rubbish."

Richard felt off balance. He had heard confidentially that Crawley was a middle class prig of the first order. Yet, he seemed unperturbed by personal insults, and quite good at volleying any type of insult. Deciding to put a quick end to these verbal gymnastics Richard declared, "I intend to make public the account of Lady Mary and the Turk."

"I rather thought that you might," Matthew answered thoughtfully adding, "Quite predictable and in my mind a poor strategy."

"And suddenly you know about the newspaper business?" Richard chuckling with no mirth whatsoever.

"I know nothing of the newspaper business," Matthew agreed easily, "However, I do know a bit about the society you covet but clearly misunderstand." Before Richard could object, Matthew continued expounding, "In our current patriotic state my wife is quite the war hero. Killing a potential enemy. But some may not view it as such." He conceded but instantly shifted to a new tactic, "Perhaps those readers might be predisposed to judge her, but even among those few would view you as anything but the vilest form of suitor."

"You are very glib Mr. Crawley," Richard conceded, "But surely you recognize how my newspapers will slant this story." Richard said feeling he was regaining the upper hand. "We will paint a young harlot of no morals, and in a moment every door in London will be shut to the pair of you."

"I am unsurprised by your tactics," Matthew replied sounding rather bored by the admission, Frankly they are a bit predictable and therefore disappointing. Still," Matthew said analytically. "Whatever papers you do not own, will most certainly run a somewhat different story." He paused before continuing, "One of a young girl willing to put aside her happiness and motherhood to nurse a wounded cousin, only to discover her fiancée smearing her name with baseless accusations…" He waited a moment letting Richard take his words in before adding, "You will be viewed as the heartless unpatriotic cad. And that will of course lead to renewed allegations about precisely why you sat out the war, and the amount of profits you allegedly generated from the carnage of the past few years." Matthew paused letting his words settle before adding, "And of course as a solicitor I can entangle you in a case that would make Jarndyce and Jarndyce look like an afternoon's consultation."

"You think I am afraid of that."

"No." Matthew answered. "I think fear has no place in your character. Boredom is your fear and months of the same old allegations and questions will leave you listless. And," He said pausing only a breath before adding, "That is why for your own sake, you would do well to drop your plans and simply move forward."

Leaning back Richard seemed to be taking in Matthew's words. At length he said, "You may well be right." He smiled thinly saying, "I do find boredom crippling." He shrugged and gathered his hat and gloves. Rising he shifted his gloves from one hand to the other, "Well Mr. Crawley you may be victorious in this round, but I assure you that this situation is far from over."

"I rather expected that."

"I will return to your life the instant I find a justification to do so."

Matthew smiled, "I would be disappointed if you did not."

Turning on his heel Richard called, "Good day until we meet again." In seconds Matthew heard the front door close.

.~.~.~.~.'

An hour later when Mary returned she found Matthew with an H.G. Welles novel open across his lap, but his attentions clearly focused elsewhere. Any questions she might have put forth, and indeed felt she should have put forth were ended by his purposeful greeting, "What a lovely surprise." He said acknowledging the women entering behind Mary.

Isobel trailed slowly behind glancing around curiously. "Just as I expected." Her tone conveying her displeasure with the house.

Mary strolled over to Matthew and brushed her lips over his cheek whispering. "Is everything alright?"

Matthew smiled at her vagueness, "Certainly!" She did not quite believe him but was not inclined to press. Instead she pushed his chair beside the sofa. She sat down beside him keeping his hand in hers.

"How did you resolve Carlisle?" Violet queried directly.

"I merely pointed out it would be better for him to be a understanding former beau, than a vengeful one."

"That sounds a great deal to simple to my mind." Violet observed critically. "Still, I would be perfectly content to never utter that vile name again."

"Then let's don't." Matthew agreed easily.

"I have some good news of a sort." Isobel said as if wanting to switch the conversation to a warmer tone. Everyone including Violet turned giving her their attention. "I had a meeting this morning, with a contact from the room. I have been offered a permanent position at the Red Cross." Isobel announced not without a touch of pride.

"I am merely surprised that the Army did not recruit you to run operations." Mathew remarked dryly.

"I will allow none of your sarcasm to spoil my mood." Isobel retorted seriously. "And do not worry out an interfering mother-in-law Mary," She said provoking Mary to look up in surprise, "I will be living at the Red Cross center."

"That will undoubtedly be a great relief to us all." Violet put in quickly, images of a Downtonless Isobel dancing prettily before her mind's eye, only making the estate even more precious to her.

"Well I have some news too…" Sybil announced cheerfully.

"Oh my heavens." Violet mused looking simultaneously peevish and concerned.

I am going to speak to my friend Vera today," Sybil explained taking a bite of her biscuit. "She says there are great opportunities in London."

"Opportunities," Violet scoffed. "What kind of opportunities."

"For women in medicine." Sybil replied adding, "The war has made me see what an utter rot politics are. Besides I like the practicality of medicine."

Violet sighed saying resignedly, "I suppose that means you intended to continue nursing."

"Not at all."

"Well thank heavens for that." Violet said a note of relief evident in her voice.

"I'm going to be a doctor." Sybil announced happily.

"Good for you!" Isobel congratulated Sybil enthusiastically, tossing a superior expression at Violet.

"I do despair for this family." Violet declared fixing a critical eye on all assembled. "Between undead heirs, rushed marriages, and career women I do wonder if there will be a brick of Downton left to preserve. And if there is the estate will clearly be filled with a house of feeble minded imbeciles."

.~.~.~.~.'

That night as the grandmother clock in the hall chimed eleven, Mary heard the creaking of the chair alerting her that her husband was near. A single knock confirmed her feeling, "Come in," She invited softly.

"Do you have a moment?" Matthew requested rolling in and turning to push the door close.

"So formal husband." Mary teased lightly. "You know you do not have to knock or ask permission if you want to speak to me."

Matthew looked slightly abashed admitting, "I am afraid it may take me some time to get used to this marriage business."

"We have time. Decades."

"Mary," He said softly as if pained by her words.

She merely smiled at him via her mirror before saying, "Is Richard gone for good?" Between Isobel and Sybil's news, the family had sat happily discussing the future for a good part of the afternoon and evening. Mary had joined in when necessary, but wanted nothing more than to ask Matthew more questions about his meeting with Richard.

"For good." Matthew repeated dubiously. "I doubt, for the moment perhaps." Seeing her visibly look downcast at the news he said, "We'll handle him. The longer we are married the less his story matters." Almost comfortingly he said, "It matters less today, and tomorrow it will matter less. And no matter what we will get through it." She looked up and her expression was so warm, that he felt the need to cough and glance away. Deciding to steer the conversation toward safer waters he inquired, "How would you feel if we stayed here in town for a bit?"

Mary took the idea in for a moment, contemplating all it might mean before asking, "Because of Richard?"

"Not wholly," Matthew said selecting his words carefully, as if negotiating a verbal mine field. "Besides with mother and presumably Sybil here…" He said adding, "A fresh start, more opportunities." He let his reasons fall away, admitting, "It will be easier here to…less reminders of what could have been…." As always she caught the half wistful tone in his voice when he spoke of the past.

Wanting to provide whatever little comfort she might provide, Mary reached to take his hand into hers. "You have been a great use to me." Not wanting him to object again to any hint of seriousness she added, "Besides I thought I married a country solicitor."

"That is another thing." Matthew said seemingly more relaxed by her movements. "With the war ending and new industrialization there might be more opportunities now here. Opportunities we will need to keep the estate."

Mary let the economic implications go untouched, preferring to buffer his self- confidence offering, "I'm quite sure with your cleverness any firm…"

"Your faith crippled solicitor is as touching as it is unrealistic." Matthew said testily.

"A wife is supposed to adore her husband." It was almost a challenge, as if her words were playing against his… Almost like their old banter…

"Not in our kind of marriage." He said brusquely withdrawing his hand. "I cannot do with fawning adoration, I need real, practical."

Mary nodded, "Well practical or not I expect you to be a great success." Seeing his jaw set in frustration she quickly added, "But with Sybil's plans perhaps us remaining in London is a good idea. And," She added cattily, "It would mean I can miss the traveling circus that is certain to be Edith's wedding to Patrick."

"How odd the world is…" Matthew mused thoughtfully. "I used to be baffled by your constant warring with Edith, now it calms me somehow. Convinces me that for all the changes, life does remain the same. I do wonder what that says about me…"

Mary considered this a mere moment before proclaiming, "It says that you have become well enough acquainted with Edith to understand how irksome she truly is…"

Matthew chuckled a rare smile quirking at his lips, "With that I say goodnight wife." As a parting gesture he gave her arm a final squeeze.

Mary watched him roll back into the dressing area, waiting until she saw the light go off moments later. Only then did she softly whisper, "Goodnight husband."

Replies get to hang out with all the cool people at Rosamond's Eaton Square house.


	3. Chapter 3

I'm not real crazy about this chapter. Clearly my muse was in a depressed mood. I will say it sets up some future stuff with Miss Swire.

.~.~.~.~.'

One did not exactly expect life to be precisely like fairy stories. That simply was not the way life worked. Still, one did expect a kind of pattern. Good deeds were rewarded, bad deeds punished. Or so Lavinia Swire had long supposed. Matthew's paralysis had shaken those convictions. Still, one could barely cross a street even in a small town like Ripon without seeing a blinded man or a uniformed individual who was perfectly fine save the fact he was absent an arm or leg. War was brutal and exacting. One expected bad things to happen in war. However, one did not exactly expect a paralyzed fiancée who could hardly run anywhere to up and be off with his cousin for a impulsive ill considered marriage. It was as if Captain Wentworth took up with Lucy Steele, which she knew rather mangled her Austen, yet she believed the comparison rather apt.

Matthew, her Matthew, had seemed such a stalwart, serious purposeful man. Nothing in her vision of him matched any of his actions of the past week. Granted he was moodier, seemed increasingly put off by her actions, but she had considered this stubbornness. She had expected her patience and persistence to move him. In Austen such feelings always did… Perhaps though she was Marian to his Willaby. And now he'd found his rich widow… Except she was not rich she was a…harlot.

Oh she was a nice person but a harlot none the less. And that was the last kind of woman she expected Matthew to tolerate, he was so priggish and rigid in his views of proper behavior. Of course Matthew did not know, could not have known and had any thought of marrying her…And it was not as if Matthew could even benefit from her indecent educations. Or perhaps, Lavinia thought, he could. Maybe such women knew how to remedy those things… It was certainly not as if she had any knowledge of that area of life. She had certainly liked Matthew holding her hand and petting her and calling her my darling, but she… Though certainly marriage would have evaporated that issue.

Such thoughts circled around and around Lavinia's mind in the last few days since her return from London. She had grown accustomed to the relative quiet of Ripon and found the jangle of London bothersome. She wandered around her father's house feeling quite the odd visitor. The few friends she had seen all mouthed nice, friendly words about maybe it happened for the best. What was best, she'd ask, and the friends would give vague responses. Or perhaps she was being obtuse. Perhaps she had been obtuse for some time. By the end of the second week of Mary and Matthew's marriage, Lavinia had

decided it best to face the thing, ask the questions she wanted… no needed to ask, speak her mind. The cards had fallen, Matthew had decided and Mary complied, but Lavinia was determined to at least tell them her feelings.

She had dashed off a note, not wanting to over think or think better of writing. She sent it off to the London address, she knew belonged to the family. The answer had come promptly the following morning this very morning, in a hand she did not recognize, yes Ms. Crawley would meet with her at a quarter past eleven.

So she had dressed and hurried across the city, leaving behind the middle class comforts of her neighborhood. Each street she passed seemed a bit more prosperous than the last. Social and economic mobility always confused her. How one street a place of want, another a place of plenty. At Downton an entire subclass existed below stairs, a class that cared for a family, who in turn cared little if any about them. And yet the Crawley were the nicest of people. And Matthew was so decent, the last type of man she would assume would ever run away with a harlot. He'd left the nice devoted sort for the harlot and that was what she wanted to ask Mrs. Lady Crawley or Lady Mrs. Crawley, "How did you make that very nice man do such a very mean thing." And thinking this she looked up and found herself standing before the very upper class London address of the Grantham family. The house where per Edith, Mary and Matthew were making their lives together.

Reaching up she pushed the bell hearing it intone in the hall. Waiting for the butler to arrive she drew a cleansing breath and steeled herself for the discussion to come. The butler, Edwards his name was Edwards she recalled, showed her inside and into the drawing room where "Mrs. Crawley is waiting." Stepping into the drawing room she found herself greeted not by the Mrs. Mary Crawley she anticipated, but instead by the considerably older Mrs. Isobel Crawley.

"Come in my dear," Isobel invited with a chilly formality that quite disarmed Lavinia. "It seems we have much to discuss."

.~.~.~.~.'

"Do you think she has a lover?" Rosemond inquired eagerly. The merest hint of scandal always served to brighten Rosemond's day.

"What?" Mary asked thinking that if this was a music hall, the orchestra would hit the drums and the audience hoot with derisive laughter. Or so she assumed, it was not as if she would ever attend a music hall.

"She's not interesting enough to have a lover." Violet replied adding accusingly, "You do think the most ridiculous things." She said throwing her daughter a sour expression.

"Then why would Cousin Isobel require the exclusive use of Grantham house for the morning?" Rosemond posed interestedly. Whatever one might say of Lady Pike they could not say that she was not quick on her feet. Had women pursued careers she could have handily kept her own counsel in the highest halls of Parliament, so rapid were her mental responses.

"Undoubtedly to have some gathering of the very sort of people we would least like to entertain…" Violet sighed, "I am quite certain she would take a perverse pleasure in serving our tea and cakes to the worst sort." Violet scowled as if seeing the gathering unfolding before her eyes and finding it most vexing.

"Really mama you do come up with the most complicated and least interesting conclusions." Rosemond clucked disappointedly, "It's so much more interesting if Cousin Isobel took a lover."

"You read far to many novels." Violet dismissed acidly. "I cannot imagine how one would even conduct an affair in a house with a butler, ladies maid and other servants. How in the world would you ever get a moment alone?" Violet dismissed the notion with a slight head shake, wishing she had her cane for added effect. Walking sticks were so handy for making points.

"Oh it can be arranged." Rosamond said her lips curling into a satisfied smile.

"I have always questioned how a mind like yours came from any part of your father."

Rosemond looked piqued saying, "Mama everyone says I am so like you."

Violet shuddered as if horrified by the mere idea. Clearly deciding to terminate the discussion, she turned toward her granddaughter asking, "Where is your husband? I have never seen a newly married couple so seldom in one another's company."

Mary nearly coughed her tea down, but quickly recovered answering, "He has a meeting with some associate from university. He told me who but I do not remember the name." She said reverting to a disdainful tone. Actually, she knew the name perfectly well, as well as the address and how long his cab ride would take. She had fretted over the details earlier volunteering to accompany him. Her husband looked utterly put out by the idea, saying he did not need a nanny.

"You do not remember the name of the man your husband is meeting for lunch." Violet tisked disapprovingly regaining Mary's attention.

"I think he's inquiring about a position." Mary said vaguely. "He seemed cheerful enough. It is so nice to see him in a cheerful mood." At breakfast he had entertained her with stories about university Peter. It had been a balm on her soul seeing him so relaxed and at ease.

Violet scowled clearly displeased with her granddaughter's words, "I had hoped the war had rid him of that silly desire. Working is so middle class."

"Mama," Rosamond chirped, "I quite disagree."

"You would." Violet intoned frowning her tone a clear rebuke.

"With the state of things I would imagine many families are quite wishing they had given their sons some taste for work." Rosamond said more seriously than was her style, having clearly paid her mother not the least attention. "I know at least three families who are in danger of losing their very properties due to beastly taxes." She continued adding, "I fear we may wish Patrick and Robert had Matthew's skills."

"All this talk of change," Violet said frowning dismissively, "You would think this was America the way people are going on about change. As if ours was not a nation built on continuity rather than a ridiculous fancy for change for change's sake."

"I don't know Mama," Rosamond continued thoughtfully, "Sometimes I wonder if this war has not changed absolutely everything, and we will never go back to the before."

Her words were either nearly beautiful or utterly depressing and Mary could not decide which emotion to embrace. Without realizing it she had begun lightly twisting her wedding band and wondering, half worrying about Matthew.

.~.~.~.~.'

Wearing a band was not familiar to Matthew. Many of his college lads, most either dead or so shattered death would be a blessing, had worn large college rings. Matthew hadn't even liked wearing a watch. He'd never thought of a ring in his brief, mostly disinterested wedding plans with Lavinia. He had not expected a ring, of course he hadn't expected a marriage or a wife either….

Mary had vanished for an hour after they had arrived in London. He had assumed she had gone off shopping or thought better of the scheme. He'd felt relieved, surprisingly so, when she returned. And later during the ceremony she had slipped a silver band on his finger. He had not thought much about the band, until he kissed Violet after the ceremony and she ran her finger over his ring. In an instant he'd gleaned precisely who's ring rested below his knuckle. "I can return it…" He started apologetically realizing the ring had belonged to Mary's grandfather and was bound up with Violet's memories of that life.

"No, no." Violet said softly, and he thought maybe he was the only person she was openly soft with… "It had a ruby stone, but it suit's the new style too. He adored Mary. He would be pleased to see her husband wear his ring." And Matthew had not one idea what to say, so he merely choked out a thank you and gave Violet a second soft kiss on the cheek.

Now he sat, well he was always sitting now, in an upscale London firm wearing Mary's grandfather's ring in the rarest of pleasant moods. Peter Simon was a friend from his university days. They had lost touch after graduation, and Matthew had been grateful to get a short and curiously formal note from him the previous day requesting a tea at his office. Peter had always been the prankster of the group. The idea Peter now invited people for tea seemed utterly against his nature. He'd actually never seen Peter drink anything without alcohol, so his tea was probably served with gin or sherry or the like. Still the invitation had seemed strangely formal and so alien to Peter's nature. Never less, Matthew had felt a pathetic gratitude for the note. He knew little of many of his former friends and associates.

After about the dozenth. 'I'm sorry he died on…" Matthew had stilled his tongue at any mention of those he once knew. He found amnesia preferable to the terrible certainty that one more soul had expired. An entire post war afternoon had been wasted drawing long, singular lines through names in his address book as his mother informed him, "No he died at the Somme." "No Verdun." No some other place he wished to God he had never heard of, a place where some young man in the prime of life fell into the ground and expired in the most vile of fashions. At last, he had simply tossed the book into the fire watching the pages curl as if welcoming the flames. He could start a new address book, so few were those that survived. Still, he viewed the invitation as something of a positive omen. At least one friend had avoided the darkness.

As the door inner opened he felt a smile crossing his features. The smile quickly fell and vanished as a graying, wrinkled man approached him, "Mr. Simon." Matthew said remembering him as a much younger more energetic figure a mere six, seven years ago. "I…" He was uncertain what to say, mostly because he knew precisely what Mr. Simon was about to tell him and he wanted oh he wanted never to hear it. Still, he steeled what was left of his damaged spine as Mr. Peter Simon, Sr. said, "My son was wounded at…"

"Wounded," Matthew repeated like an imbecile, realizing that the spirit clung to the thread barest of thread bare hopes. But he watched the aged eyes dim, realizing an instant to late his folly. Then he realized with a kind of horror how much worse to understand that one you thought carried back and safe, was still strung up in the wires left to rot over years, decades perhaps, lacking even the peace of death. And then and only then did Peter Simon, Sr. wheel Matthew into his office and in bits and pieces narrate the story of his son's wounding and his terrible suffering.

.~.~.~.~.'

Lavinia found herself alone in the very blue morning room. The name was entirely apt for the entire room was varying shades of blue. She kept seeking the non-blue entity, but from molding to rug the room was only and every shade of blue. It suited her mood even as she recoiled from its uniformity.

Isobel had disappeared somewhere nattering about needing to, "See about the tea." Lavinia thought that was most likely a lie, but still it was a lie that she was grateful for… Isobel had never been anything less than kind to her, but she had never been especially warming either. Toward the end of things, Lavinia had been left with the sense Isobel was not entirely glad to welcome her back to Downton. That had puzzled her for Isobel's entire existence seemed to be dedicated to duty. If nothing else, she would have expected Isobel to respect her for forgoing an easier life to nurse her wounded fiancée. Quite the opposite, she felt Isobel rather cut her when she ran off to London with the wedding party. Logically of course she realized Isobel owed her duty to her son, never less it had hurt Lavinia's feelings.

Still, she had done nothing wrong and Lavinia stiffened her posture as Isobel returned determined to bear up against this drama as best she could. "Edwards will bring the tea shortly." Isobel's stiff formal announcement, almost caused Lavinia to chuckle, as Isobel returned. Mother of the future Earl, though she might be, Isobel Crawley was still painfully middle class. She was simply not used to ordering tea and handling matters in such a formal fashion.

Still, Lavinia realized Isobel's status was not the purpose of the visit and she turned to the matter at hand. "I expected to see Lady Mary." Lavinia stated finding her voice tinny.

Isobel looked down at her hands, then returned her gaze to Lavinia, "I expect you did." As if explaining her presence, Isobel explained, "I was here yesterday when your note arrived."

"And you read my note."

"Evesdropping has always been my worst trait." Isobel admitted offering the confession with little shame. "Typically though I do not read other people's mail."

"But you read my note."

Isobel nodded answering, "I did."

"May I ask why?"

"I predicted the content and decided I might be better able to answer your questions."

Lavinia glanced downward as if inspecting the fray on the pillow beside her… saying quietly, "How could you?"

"I fancy that I have a better grasp of the situation." Her tone was brisk and efficient, rather like the fearsome woman Lavinia suspected she had to become to handle the war time demands.

"I find that a bit confusing." Lavinia admitted feeling herself tense with a certain indignation.

Isobel seemed to ignore her saying, "It can be difficult to be in the middle of a romance and imagine one's self the heroine, only to find yourself cast in the role of spoiler. And so many romances fill one with the notion if you are good and righteous you must naturally prevail… When quite often the heart merely wants what it wants and one's virtues are rather beside the fact." Isobel offered a knowing smile as if all she had said should have perfectly illuminated the situation.

Lavinia however felt the little literature discussion rather missed the entire point. "Matthew said he loved me. We were engaged for quite a time. I merely want to know what changed."

"Nothing." Isobel said content to let the words roll of her tongue. "Nothing changed. I rather think that was the point."

"I am afraid I do not understand."

Isobel watched her, "I think you did understand, or perhaps you feared understanding." She said adding quietly, "I saw you many times watching Matthew with Mary. I saw the way your gaze followed them. I thought you perfectly aware of the situation."

"I knew they were fond of one another of course." Lavinia agreed firmly. "As cousins they were naturally so fond of one another."

"The way Matthew was fond of Sybil or Edith." There was a half challenge in Isobel's tone, even as her face remained placid.

"He was closer to Mary of course, but they both explained that was only friendship."

Isobel nodded knowingly, "They did say that a great deal."

"Were they lying?" Lavinia paled a bit at the thought. She had always thought Matthew the most honest of men. Events had put that into question, but the notion he had carried on a secret intrigue behind her back, still seemed beyond her idea of him. And Mary was her friend. If they had been lying nude in bed laughing about deluding her then…she could not bear the mere idea.

No," Isobel said softly. "I believe they thought themselves resigned to mere friendship."

"For a time." Lavinia replied bitterly, feeling almost guilty for sounding so. "Still after his accident, after I came back to care for him, everything was different."

"Was it?" Isobel's question was analytical, and laid down almost as a challenge.

"Of course," Lavinia defended her position with more conviction. "Mary was to marry, we were to marry. The past was in the past…The looks, the interest was gone."

Lavinia looked up to see Isobel regarding her with utter confusion, "My dear if you did not see it then you must have blinded yourself."

Lavinia watcher her for a moment before rising saying, "I believe I will take my leave now."

She had just reached the door when Isobel said, "When you want to talk again please contact me."

"What makes you believe I will want to speak again?" Lavinia asked almost choking back tears.

Isobel studied her for a moment before answering, "As events clarify in your mind I believe you may wish to speak further. Come to me rather than individuals who may prolong your problems rather than assist you in solving them." She had barely finished her sentence before Lavinia fled the house.

.~.~.~.~.'

Edwards, as always opened the front door and Mary stepped into the foyer feeling an odd fatigue. As much as she adored her aunt and granny, their constant verbal gymnastics could be exhausting. Besides she had spent the last quarter of an hour worrying over Matthew, and decided she would rather worry over her husband in the library awaiting his return and perhaps have a diverting conversation with her mother-in-law.

Even as she decided this… Edwards said Mrs. Crawley had left a quarter of an hour before. Mary felt rather disappointed by that, and rather skeptical of the odd expression on the butler's face. Surely she had not….Such thoughts were cast aside when Edwards intoned, "And Mr. Crawley is in the study." Nodding Mary turned to walk down the hallway. The study was on the backside of the house, a small cramped room lined floor to ceiling with books. Her father disliked the room calling it confining, but Matthew seemed to favor it over any other room. Opening the door Mary saw his chair was facing the garden. "Good afternoon, darling," She said in a restrained tone, "How was your meeting?"

Matthew sighed without turning, "Depressing, informative and finally useful. At least I imagine so…"

"That must have been quite a conversation." Mary said in a breezy half interested fashion. She was learning Matthew liked clipped comments and little to no emotion linked to those comments.

He nodded keeping his eyes cast downward. "Peter Simon was a junior, I had forgotten that." Recognizing the pain in his voice, Mary kept quiet fearfully certain of what he would say next. "I had the great pleasure of meeting Peter Simon Sr." He paused and glanced up, "Peter Simon Jr. is in a home, a hospital, whatever you call such places. His brain no more substantial than the soup we will consume this evening."

Mary cringed at the comparison but asked only, "And of the senior?"

"Heartbroken of course." Matthew said softly, "He offered me a position." Mary nodded to indicate her interest, while opting to remain silent to better gauge his view on the position.

"Junior partner," He added dispassionately, rather in the style of narrating information from a story or a newspaper article that he was disgusted by and wished only to forget. "But as most of the partners lost sons and are close to retirement age themselves, I am to understand my prospects are quite good." He scowled adding, "While their sons are rotting in the ground, or soiling their beds I will scale the heights of the profession." His tone conveyed the kind of faux indifference Mary championed for herself, but found troublesome in Matthew.

Mary watched him thinking that these past few months nursing him, cajoling him to spend time with her, reading with him… she had come to understand his moods better than her own. She was capricious, forever flailing against one wind or another. For so long Matthew was good and just and perfect…except he wasn't anymore. Matthew was sarcastic, and jaded and bitter and could be colder than the frosty eggnogs Mrs. Hughes made for her when she had influenza a decade before…Now though he was not jaded or bitter or cold, he was pained. Whatever pretense he put on, she recognized the pain in his eyes and in his tone. If she did what she wanted, rested her head on his shoulder, wrapped her arms around him…he would hate it. He would probably actually be sick. So she merely questioned, "Do you think you will enjoy the work."

His shoulders rose a bit and he seemed almost angry at her question. Still, with a sigh he said, "Oh I suspect that I will."

"Well," Mary said, "Then there is that."

"I suppose." He said, but the acknowledgement was little beyond the meanest of grudging acceptances and one that brought him little satisfaction.

Feedback good or bad can either hang with Rosemond or comfort Matthew


	4. Chapter 4

A Modern Arrangement IV

O'Brien had spent most of the day packing the evening dresses, afternoon dresses, and night dresses that Cora required for even a week in London. Robert had looked at the trunks with a familiar despair, with a houseful of females he seemed consigned to traveling with trunk upon trunks. Now and again he would tease Cora about the fact she could not seem to leave the house without a dozen parcels and packages. Each time she would remind him half of the trunks were undoubtedly his…and he was dimly aware that Bates had spent the day in much the same fashion as O'Brien. Still, he could not restrain himself from entering the bedroom saying, "Are you planning on leaving any of your clothing here?"

Cora considered him via his reflection in her dressing table mirror, before frowning and saying archly, "Very amusing."

Taking in her state Robert said, "You certainly have contained any excitement you feel about London or Mary or Matthew." He unknotted his robe but made no move to sit or lay down.

"Don't be ridiculous Robert," She chided continuing to glance at her husband only through the reflection of the mirror. "Of course I am looking forward to seeing them."

"You certainly do not give that impression." He said standing with his hands buried in the pockets of his dressing gown.

"Well," Cora answered at length, "You have to admit. The situation is hardly ideal."

Robert nodded lowering himself to sit on the edge of the mattress. "A great deal more ideal than the alternative."

"I suppose." Cora agreed in a tone suggesting more doubt than conviction.

"Suppose," Robert spat out removing his robe. "Sometimes I truly fail to understand you. Am I to believe that you consider Sir Richard Carlisle a better alternative."

"Not better, certainly." Cora turned to face Robert adding, "Only perhaps …" She shook her head clearly uncertain precisely what to say.

"You said yourself the idea of her enduring a lifetime with him was unthinkable."

Cora narrowed her eyes stating, "I am perfectly aware of my words. And I do not remember advocating Matthew as a substitute."

"I seem to recall you rhapsodizing about how very perfect they looked together not very long ago."

"Yes," Cora granted taking a long pause before adding, "But that was before… It is all so very different now."

Utterly confused by his wife's words and state of mind Robert said, "You are happy they are married?"

"I suppose." Seeing that her words were maddening to Robert, Cora hastily added, "I am not certain how I feel. I know you wish me to be so, but I am not. It is certainly not what I desired for my daughter."

"I fail to see why not." Robert said stubbornly. "He is a good man, and he and Mary are terribly fond of one another." His words were firm as he concluded, "Many a marriage has started with less."

"You are referring to our marriage of course," Cora observed bluntly. "I would argue that however true that may well be, that we started in a considerably different place."

Robert stared at her in something akin to shock, "You would begrudge a man happiness because he was wounded fighting for this country."

"Robert," Cora said reaching for her brush, clutching it tightly with her fingers trying to relieve the intense anger that seemed to be coursing through her body. "Do not be dramatic or ridiculous. I would never think such a thing… Credit me with some sensitivity."

"I credit you with immense sensitivity," Robert commented his tone icy, "That is why I find your current behavior so infinitely confounding."

"Do you really Robert?" She sighed tiredly. "I sometimes believe it must Herculean effort on your part to remain oblivious to the true state of things."

Robert bristled at her words, the war had changed so much, up ended the order he was so accustomed to… It seemed all the women in his life now felt free to accept proposals, elope to marriages, enter universities without his permission. Now his wife was suggesting he was oblivious. It felt like much to much, the war had ended but no one had gone back to their previous roles. "Deluded to what," He said feeling only marginally interest in her comment, and hugely frustrated by her tone.

"Since the day Mary was born I have searched and worked and hoped for her marriage." She looked down at her hands with a kind of desperation. "A woman who has no sons becomes a kind of businesswoman. Except instead of running shops or selling crafts, we sell our daughters. All the time I was bringing Mary up; the French lessons, the governesses, the deportment, the dances it was all an exaggerated advertisement. You must know this we spoke of it so many times."

Robert considered her words, realizing that no he had not known that or not known that in the way she imagined. He had expected Mary would marry well, of course she had not been alone with other types, but the reality of it had seemed different to him, perhaps he had been delusional but he had thought all of that was about something different. "Matthew is a good man, you love him nearly as much as I…Surely that is enough."

"It should be," Cora said near tears. "I know it should be, but Robert it is so alien to all I planned, all my hopes.."

"That is what I do not understand," He said gently, he saw now perhaps to late, but he did see now that whatever Cora's emotions they came not from anger or dislike of Matthew but from something different and deeper and something a trifle sadder.

"All my plans and hopes and dreams were for one kind of life for our daughter, our girl. I spent twenty-six years seeing a kind of life for Mary." She paused clearly attempting to reign in her feelings. "I've been forced to readjust my plans for my daughter many times, Robert." She said sounding pained and near tears, "But I never reckoned on her marrying an middle class solicitor let alone one who cannot….." She let the words fall away, not feeling quite the new woman who could speak of such things, even to her husband.

Robert watched her wanting to cross the room and comfort her and feeling utterly incapable of doing so. And so they sat across the room, neither enraged or comforted by the other and instead feeling a kind of puzzlement that they had lived together so long and yet understood so little about one another.

.~.~.~.~.'

Matthew's office had telephoned around seven saying he was assisting a senior partner at the Bailey, and would be detained for some time. Mary and Sybil had dined alone. Sybil dominated the conversation with anatomy discussions, which Mary found as unpalatable as the topic was unsurprising, whenever Sybil fell for an idea she fell head over heels. From socialist chauffeurs to membranes, there was no half way for Sybil. Mary shuddered at the idea of what Sybil would be like when she actually had patients to discuss.

When Sybil retired with an anatomy text, Mary had decided on an early night and had curled up in bed with a novel. Around ten she heard the front door open and Matthew speaking with Edwards. She heard Edwards and the footman carting Matthew up the stairs, a vision he never allowed her to see, and which she knew he found emotionally shattering. Though he seldom commented, Mary knew Matthew bristled at needing any assistance whatsoever and hated the idea he had to rely on the servants for basic tasks. She tried to be cheerful and sardonic, hoping to amuse Matthew and cheer him with her commentary, but he seemed to design his schedule and life to exclude her whenever and however possible. His work seemed to bring him pleasure, she surely did not.

Still Mary forced a smile when she heard his wheelchair squeaking outside her… well their bedroom door. Modesty mad her reach for her dressing gown, spread at the foot of the bed. However, she quashed the impulse to cover herself, reasoning that Matthew was her husband and she wasn't about to add some silly Victorian pretense to her behaviors. She was hardly the virginal maiden why clutch at a chastity which she no longer possessed? Besides Matthew claimed to not care, and she was half curious if that was true. Mary felt her lips twist upward at the familiar knock, "Come in dear."

Matthew rolled in still dressed in his coat and tie. "I hope I did not wake you."

"You did not, and you do not have to knock." She reminded him with an affectionate smile.

"Right." He agreed distractedly, in a tone that suggested he would go on knocking.

Opting to alter the subject she asked, "How was your day?"

"Pleasant. I assisted with another senior at the Bailey most of the day."

The idea of Matthew assorting with the Bailey criminal set troubled her, but she had decided to be an ideal solicitor's wife or at least try and fake the role. "That must have been very…interesting."

Matthew studied her for the briefest moment before laughingly observing, "You should have entered the stage. That performance was ery nearly flawless."

Feeling uncertain if Matthew was teasing or complimenting her, Mary frowned saying, "I certainly do not know what you are referring to…"

"Poor Lady Mary," Matthew said relaxing, "Married to a middle class solicitor who spent the day with actual clients and probable criminals."

"Upper middle class." She said using Isobel's disclaimer and pulling a face at him.

"Aha yes upper middle class." Matthew grinned and Mary saw some of the tension had relaxed from his face. "I liked it actually."

"I am glad." Mary said warmly. "That's all I want." Nervous that she had betrayed to much, given away something she had best keep hidden she looked away. When she looked back her face was again vague and unreadable.

Matthew studied her, "Well it is good to feel useful." He glanced pointedly at the dressing room door.

Feeling a desire, neither unknown nor atypical, to keep him with her, Mary said, "Tell me about your case."

"I am sure, rather I would imagine you would not be interested."

Mary angled her head, "I spent dinner listening to Sybil rhapsodize about femurs and tibias, be assured a bit of lawlessness would be much appreciated."

Matthew smiled delightedly, another expression that she could tuck up inside her heart with the to seldom expressions of happiness her husband demonstrated. "Well I am afraid it is hardly the makings of a Collins novel… Still," He paused clearly pleased by her interest. "A young veteran with a bit of nervous had a attack and damaged some property." He shrugged, "A not atypical event I suppose." His brow creased and she watched his shoulders tense.

"He must have been grateful for your assistance."

Matthew shook his head, a curt motion that seemed born of equal parts frustration and helplessness. "All we could do was get him off a charge. We, no one can repair his mental or physical state."

"Matthew," She said pushing back the cover and coming to where his wheelchair sat, "Perhaps you cannot do all you wish, but you have made a start." Thinking of her own life and their marriage she added, "Whatever is left to endure, at least you provide a means out of the ennui of inactivity."

"Perhaps." He agreed gravely, clearly unconvinced by her words. "Perhaps," He said echoing his own words.

"Matthew," She said.

He refocused on her saying, "Sorry I went somewhere for a moment." Then suddenly as if only just seeing her, said surprised and with a certain tenderness, "I have never seen you with your hair down."

"Oh," Mary said touching her hair uncertainly.

He chuckled though he did not seem particularly amused, "Funny thing for a husband to say to his wife of a week, I suppose."

Mary rolled her eyes, "Not for our kind of marriage." She said comfortably retreating to their familiar mantra.

"Whatever kind of marriage we have," He said gently, "You are really beautiful."

She smiled hoping for sincere and not siren as she said, "I would hope you would think so. You married me."

"Just not that kind of marriage." He said determinedly before turning his wheelchair toward his dressing area. "Goodnight." He said rolling into the room.

"Goodnight," Mary said as he rolled into his dressing area, leaving her uncertain what the conclusion of their conversation meant and feeling despite her inclinations somewhat hopeful.

.~.~.~.~.'

"How was your evening sir?" Robespierre questioned as Sir Richard Carlisle his master came whistling down the hall, still dressed in his white tie, tails, with a cape draped over his shoulders.

"Excellent, excellent." Carlisle responded offering a cheery smile. "I had a deliciously rare steak and washed it down with a wine of the finest vintage. And I topped the evening by depriving a young lady of her virtue. All in all a most excellent evening." He said concluding his account with an even wider smile.

Robespierre offered no comment, he merely opened Carlisle's door and followed his employer through the door. His profession had skilled him in stilling his tongue, in subsuming his life in favor of his employer's life. Robespierre had gone to work for Richard when he was only Mr. Carlisle and watched with a certain pleasure as his master climbed the social ranks. He had long ago left behind any judgments regarding Richard's character. Mr. Avers, his first butler, had instructed him beginning when he was a boy of 14, a street urchin who Avers had made into a valet through determination and a certain forbearance, "It is not for you or my sort to think to much about anything, it is only your job to think how you can best serve the sort you will serve." Robespierre had made those words a kind of gospel, now he seldom thought of anything but Sir Richard. After he handed Sir Richard his dressing gown, Robespierre noted, "An invitation came for you earlier."

"Oh," Richard answered knotting his dressing gown. "That is hardly surprising so many people do enjoy my company."

"Indeed, Sir." Robespierre granted before saying, "However, I believe this invitation might be of especial interest to you."

"Oh," Richard said, his interest clearly piqued, taking the letter Robespierre proffered. He eyed the address in something akin to surprise before breaking the seal and reading the brief note. Returning the letter to the envelope he announced in a delighted tone, "Lady Painswick wishes me to come to supper."

"I see." Robespierre answered in a measured neutral tone, careful to display no emotion. Privately Robespierre believed a great deal of his longevity with Sir Richard was due in no small part to his lack of emotion. Sir Richard was fond of his own views, and largely intolerant of the views of others. Robespierre had long ago learned to keep mute on most topics.

"It is a new idea." Richard observed delightedly, "Inviting the jilted groom to a meal fêting the bride and groom." He smiled adding, "I am certain Lady Mary and the solicitor would rather I not attend."

Robespierre nodded predicting, "Then you will not attend."

"Do not be ridiculous why should I deprive the other guests, the pleasure of my company. Besides knowing it will place Lady Mary in an anxious state and ruin the solicitor's evening? Quite the opposite, I really must attend." Sir Richard touched his gown and smiled at the handsome visage staring back at him in the mirror. Chuckling contentedly he predicted, "This is certain to be the most successful of Lady Painswick's suppers for the season."

.~.~.~.~.'

Bending at his knee, Edwards allowed Matthew to swing his arms around his shoulders. "Are you ready sir?"

"Yes." Matthew said watching rather than feeling Edwards shift the lower part of his body up and onto the bed. Paralysis was odious enough on its face, but it was a special type of degrading to force a man to be slung by another man onto a mattress. Early on it had been worse, he had to submit to other men sliding his clothes on and off changing him as if he was a overgrown baby. He'd put a stop to that quick enough.

Now in an exhausting routine he slid his own clothes off and on. The first weeks had been brutal, he'd been exhausted and sweat soaked just from changing pants and putting on pajamas. Now it had turned into a kind of awkward dance whereby Edwards turned to the wardrobe selecting Matthew's clothes for the next day, while Matthew struggled to undress and dress himself.

Before the war he'd grown accustomed to having Mosely dress and undress him. It was a routine and solicitors did adore routines. Now though having so little control over so much of his life, Matthew insisted on performing such rituals himself. So he would turn and roll his body until he could slide off his day clothes and slide on the bottom half of his pajamas. It was a time consuming chore and one Edwards could have completed in mere minutes, but Matthew clung to the notion that he must perform such tasks for himself. "I am just about ready," He said feeling utterly drained by the simple task of changing clothes.

"Very good Sir." Edwards replied finishing a task he could have completed in seconds and crossing the room. He placed the hot water bottle near Matthew's feet and then wrapped his feet in warmed flannel. Then pulled the blanket up to Matthew's knees. At last he pulled the sheet up asking, "Is there anything else sir."

"No." Matthew said in the most distant of tones as if addressing a person or topic of little interest.

"Very good then." Edwards agreed nodding and exiting the room. Matthew watched with a detachment he'd perfected over weeks and weeks in various sick beds, and at Downton.

He did not give Edwards' further thought chiefly because he understood little about Edwards. Indeed, the very thing Matthew prized about Edwards was his lack of any kind of understanding about the butler. To his pleasure, Matthew possessed absolutely no idea what if anything Edwards felt about any topic. The anonymity and sterility reassured Matthew. He cherished the notion there might be another like him in the world, a man who had severed his feelings as surely as war could sever a limb.

Bates and Mosely were both filled to the brim with feelings. Bates forever playing the wounded noble victim, and Mosely all eagerness and wistfulness. After the Some, Matthew had begun the difficult, yet necessary task of letting go of feelings. And after his injury he had said goodbye to expectations of any kind. All the old emotions, hopes and feelings had no place in his postwar existence. You just could not see the things he'd seen, endured the horrors of the trenches and the stench and the smell and then go back to the old naivety and persona. So much of his leaves had become extended play acting sessions. A tapestry of memory and pretense, playing at old routines, that left him mentally exhausted by his returns to camp.

His injury emotionally shattering as it was, had mercifully ended such rubbish. And his recovery and the end of things with Lavinia had only strengthened his resolve and conviction that his emotional pre-war life was completely over. If his body could not produce desire that was almost a relief, for after all the deaths and destruction he certainly had no love left in him. Had he been capable of walking and taken Lavinia down the aisle, he knew he would have tidily made a hash of her allusions of his nature. A nature if it had really existed, that had been blown to bits long ago…

No Mary was better. Mary channeled her emotions. She had lost a lover and calmly carried the body down a dark corridor, seeming quite recovered in the briefest of days. Mary could always move forward, retaining a cynical, brittle tone that showed she moved on, never letting the past shackle her.

Besides Mary viewed him as a friend, a cousin and nothing more. Mary would not go on wanting emotions that were stillborn inside of him. He could learn from Mary, mimic her humor and disdain. She could educate him in restrained emotions. He could aid her through whatever scandal was to occur. Then he could release her to some other man, allow her to find real happiness, and go on about his way. He had worked all this out in an instant when he proposed. It was all decided.

Yet, as he lay in bed he kept envisioning the woman lying in the next room. Mary was unspeakably beautiful, any fool could see that. After his accident however he had taken to viewing her beauty in a detached fashion. She was beautiful, but it seemed to have nothing to do with him and he certainly was not going to feel anything in relation to her beauty. And he still felt that, could not imagine not feeling that.

And yet, here he lay thinking of how pretty an image she made…. her soft hair spilling down her back, her smile relaxed and easy, her eyes half drowsy, calling him darling, asking him about his day. Such was the origin of several choice pre-war fantasies. But the old dreams did not include a crippled half man solicitor. Matthew had no taste for the kind of pal marriage with the neutered husband playing dumb to his wife's growing loneliness and pains. He despised men who chained women inside a union which would leave them childless, and unfulfilled, shamed by desires and yearnings that were perfectly natural. When Mary had referred to a woman who just wanted to be with him on any terms, he knew she meant Lavinia. Just as he knew Lavinia meant it when she said she'd stand by him, the irony of her standing beside him would have made him laugh if it was not so tragic.

The absolute last thing he wanted was Lavinia or any woman equating love with sacrificing a natural life of marriage and motherhood for the role of sexless nursemaid. No, he must keep strong and let such feelings remain dead as they should be… So he closed his eyes, pushing aside the image of his wife in her night dress, steeling his mind and turning his thoughts to nuanced technicalities of corporate law, vowing that the domestic visions of a beautiful wife would not soften his stance. Besides, he knew no soft or good thing would follow him into his dreams. The prewar dreams of loving Mary, of racing his bicycle across Downton with a son or daughter, of laughing carelessly with Sybil, or his mother…. Those dreams stopped forever the night of his first battle. Now he dreamed of mud, and rats scurrying, and shells exploding and death always death. His dreams were a dark, fearsome place where nothing lasted save the things one most wanted gone. All the emotions he repressed during the daily came surging to life each night. And at night the only sensation he felt was pain and a kind of naked terror that made him want to cry out in pain and fear. No pleasant domestic image could ever last long once he closed his eyes. And now he closed his eyes with a horror he could never wholly shake. There was no place for Lady Mary Crawley in the barren wasteland, and he thought if she ever knew what existed in his mind she'd run as fast as she could toward Sir Richard Carlisle or any man that could save her from this neurotic, broken cripple she'd married out of fear and pity. Even a manipulative, cruel magnet would best a useless imbecile. And so he would never let Mary know about his dreams either before or after the war. As long as she never knew he could keep her in some fashion until he could let her go off to the happy life he could certainly never provide her. That decided he closed his eyes against the woman lying sleeping in the next room.

Writing this chapter two things became clear Matthew is seriously depressed and clueless that Mary loves him. And Sir Richard considers himself the hero of the story. This was such an intense chapter to write, next chapter is Lady Rosamond's supper which will be crazy!


	5. Chapter 5

Happy Downton Day to all who have PBS stations running marathons today! Thanks for the many alerts and reviews. I have been remiss in responding to all my replies but trust me nothing makes me happier than getting feedback. I actually thought this chapter would be Rosemond's party but alas Robert and Cora walked into Grantham House and then Sybil and Matthew showed up… Clearly the inmates are running the asylum. Do let me know what you think.

.~.~.~.~.

The half hour before her parents arrival, Mary felt unusually nervous. Matthew had gone off to his place of work promptly at eight, Around the same time, Sybil had traipsed off to learn all about the function and malfunctioning of kidneys, and Mary could hardly wait to hear all about that at dinner. Both had promised in a vague and altogether unsatisfactory fashions that they would be home early. Mary remained unconvinced either would make a real effort in that direction. And as 4:30 crept ever closer, she realized with little pleasure that she knew her sister and her husband very well, meaning she would be entirely on her own with the inquisition squad.

And indeed she was quiet alone when her parents arrived. Fortunately the dressing gong rang shortly after the briefest of pleasantries had been exchanged, freeing Mary and filling her with a hope the missing duo would soon return. Her optimism had waned with each scrap of clothing Anna placed upon her. Anna's whose arrival was so welcome, and whose services were being given by her parents in recognition of her marriage…even Anna could not cheer her mood. Pulling on her gloves Mary said resignedly, "I suppose its just me then."

"I suppose so." Anna agreed uncertainly.

Turning both women saw the knob twisting and Edith breezed into the room, "What cousin Matthew oh I am sorry brother-in-law Matthew." Pronounced with such seriousness that Mary rolled her eyes, "Still is not home? I must say I am surprised. I assumed it was rather a simple thing to keep a paralyzed man about the house."

"Probably as easy as keeping a hideously disfigured war veteran at arm's length," Mary said smoothly. "Oh and where is dear cousin Patrick?"

"You know very well Patrick cannot tolerate traveling."

Mary nodded, "Or perhaps he finds your absence preferable." Mary said coolly walking out of the room, leaving Edith fuming and Anna suppressing her amusement.

Still any sense of victory was fleeting for she sighted Cora already seated in the drawing room, and looking forearmed for battle. For the briefest of moments images of Matthew and Sybil filled her head…. Matthew crouched over some tedious endless document. Sybil examining the interior of a kidney and looking every bit the most pleased of Cheshire cats. For the first and most likely last time she would gladly have traded places with either of them. Particularly as virtually the moment she entered the room, her mother said, "Oh did I tell you the Summerlin's daughter just got married." Yes, slicing up a kidney or reading a will seemed perfectly peachy compared to her current predicament.

.~.~.~.~.

In actuality, however, Matthew was not reading a document. He was instead preparing to close out his business day. His last brief had dragged on longer than he had anticipated, and he knew Mary was anxious about the arrival of her parents. Still, his best intentions to hurry to the Grantham's London address had been well tempered by the fact he felt little excitement about the dinner to come. Between Cora's likely irritation about he and Mary eloping, and her likely displeasure over Sybil's career plans Matthew felt the evening would most likely be a stormy affair. And what was the good of being a cripple if it did not get you out of uncomfortable social situations.

Still he had delayed enough and he could not leave even Mary alone to handle the situation. So he wrapped his scarf around his neck preparing to leave. As he did Mr. Henson, the firm's secretary stepped in, "Mr. Simon would like to see you before you leave."

Matthew nodded and placed his valise on his lap. "Will you hold this for me?" The man nodded and retreated.

Matthew rolled to Simon's door which was ajar calling, "Good evening."

"Come in Crawley," The craggy voice encouraged. Matthew wheeled himself into the room stopping just before reaching the desk. He then sat silently waiting while Simon glanced at a document. Seemingly done with the page he laid it aside, he then pushed his spectacles off and placed them on the desk before glancing meaningfully at Matthew,

"I apologize for detaining you." He said with a forced smile, "I know young married men are eager to be home. I hope your bride will forgive me detaining you."

"Certainly." Matthew replied rather doubting that notion.

"It is some time since I had a bride myself." Simon said, "My wife and I had hopes we would soon have a daughter-in-law but of course that was not to be." Matthew nodded but remained silent uneasy and uncertain what response he was expected to make. "I suppose your bride is very sweet."

Matthew suppressed the urge to guffaw. "Sweet is not necessarily the first adjective I would choose to describe my wife." Matthew answered diplomatically.

Simon reached for his cigar saying, "In my day you wanted a sweet, simpering girl."

Matthew felt a sudden flash of Lavinia. Lavinia was sweet. He had not really known how to deal with that even before the accident. Afterward her every kind word felt like acid dribbled upon scalded skin. "I take that is not your sort."

Matthew thought the question curious rather than judgmental and answered as truthfully as he could, "I suppose once I thought so…" He shrugged not wanting to delve deeper into the subject. He had to keep a solid, consistent hold on his marriage to Mary and guard against ever burdening her with his feelings, which increasingly seemed as withered as his spine. "My wife's temperament suits me." He hoped his response would deter further questions.

"Lady Mary Crawley," He said as if considering the term. "Lady Painswick was kind enough to invite us to your dinner." Matthew nodded giving him the time to piece out his words. "I fear Sara is not up to that…Lady Painswick's parties are most…. adventurous." He shook his head slightly, as if refocusing his thoughts. "Mrs. Simon has suffered terribly since we lost our boy."

"I can only imagine." Matthew proffered hoping he sounded sympathetic rather than insincere. The problem was he could all to well imagine the Simon's suffering. He had watched parents journey to Downton on the hope, slight though it might be that their son was one of the maimed and ill, one alive in whatever fashion. Most of time they left Downton with hope drained, looking paler, and years older.

"Downton was used as a convalesce hospital, yes." Uncertain where all of this was going, Matthew merely nodded. "And I understand your sister-in-law is a nurse now engaged in the study of medicine."

Feeling a prickling sense of unease Matthew said, "Yes but I do not understand…"

Simon put aside his unlit cigar saying, "I suppose I am putting this badly, but I was wondering if the three of you… Mrs. Crawley, your sister-in-law might join us one evening."

"You mean to invite us to dinner." Matthew sputtered rather confounded by the long didactic process leading to the invitation.

Simon chuckled a dry sound emitting little merriment. He put up his hand, "Understand you are not compelled to do this thing… Only I would consider it a great favor. Mrs. Simon has…" He paused considering his words cautiously, parsing them out like small pieces of parchment with hieroglyphic scribbling. "She has been unwell. For some time I feared I would lose her along with Peter… She is better now but still very fragile. She may hereafter always be fragile." A kind of melancholic sadness crossed over his face, and Matthew realized his comments about sweet brides had referred less to his wife, than Simon's. "I think it would help her to be among young society again." He explained adding, "And I assumed with your family's experience at a home, and your various troubles you might well be sensitive enough to handle the thing." He looked up at Matthew expectantly, "Can you….?"

"Of course." Matthew agreed with false effusion thinking privately it was an odious task of the living to comfort the relatives of the dead. During the war he had written dozens and dozens of letters, a pack of lies filling each one. The soldier was blown to bits, oh your son died bravely. A soldier screamed in pain until his voice grew horse or death took him, I may assure you he was in no pain. A shell exploded taking a soldier's arm and leg with him leaving him forever maimed or a soldier who had half his face blasted away, certainly you will find his appearance only slightly altered. King and country he could just about wrap his brain about….but this daily lying and imaginating quite bewildered him. Warriors are sent off to war, and then expected to return with pretty stories and comforting words for the bereaved. Still, he was a man of duty, even the war he was disturbed to realize had not entirely changed that…So he agreed to dinner with some pretty lies.

.~.~.~.~.

"I cannot imagine what has detained Sybil and Matthew." Mary lied as they walked into the dining room.

"Well it will be nice to have you to ourselves a bit." Cora said smoothly.

"Of course." Mary said taking her customary seat at the middle of the table, Edith across from her while her parents as if by instinct took the heads of the table. A veil of formality fell upon the table and Mary sat mutely waiting for her father to commence conversation.

"Do Matthew and Sybil like living here?" Robert inquired.

The question was puzzling still Mary replied, "It has barely been a fortnight, but yes I suppose."

"I am sure Matthew is grateful to be back at work."

Cora's words were genial enough, still it rankled Mary that she spoke of Matthew's work in vague discomfort. That she had thought the same for years did not mollify Mary's irritation. "I am certain Mr. Simon is grateful to have a solicitor of Matthew's skill."

"Of course," Cora agreed kindly, which rather vexed Mary. She had been working up to a proper argument, and now her mother decided to be kindly and accepting, it was so very maddening.

"Is he up to the work?" Robert questioned sounding concerned.

"Matthew's spine was damaged, his health was not."

"Of course, of course," Robert agreed. "Still I would not want him to overtax his strength."

"Papa," Mary said feeling as irritated as amused by his words. "Matthew spent the last four years in trenches and danger every moment. I hardly think working in a comfortable London office quite compares."

"I am certain you are correct." Robert agreed, "I suppose it is not my lot to understand the demands or lack thereof of work."

Edith lifted her fork holding it mid air as she said, "We only worry you are not properly caring for cousin Matthew." She took a bite of food, chewing methodically before adding, "You have never been very good at recognizing much less caring for other's feelings."

Mary scowled at her sister ready to parry an insult at her, but her mother interceded saying, "We are as much concerned that Matthew is being a proper husband to you."

Recognizing her mother's meaning but unwilling to reply to her specific issue Mary simply said, "Sharing my life with Matthew makes me happier than I thought possible." That she believed sounded the type of remark a contentedly blissful newlywed would make, and in its own way it was true enough.

"Then your mother and I could not be happier." Robert replied smiling broadly. As if wanting to dissuade future discussion he added, "I assume Sybil relishes her political studies."

Mary smiled, "Rather less than you might assume." She could not wait for that news to come out, but while it was still in the closet she enjoyed having a secret from the rest of the family.

"Between Matthew's schedule of work and Sybil's decision to enter university it does appear neither has any desire to actually spend time with you." Completing her remark Edith lifted her glass and sipped some of her wine.

The pleasant thing about having Edith around again, was that it reminded Mary of how little she ever missed Edith. "Perhaps that is why dear cousin Patrick did not accompany you on this trip." Mary said acidly, quite enjoying the glare Edith attempted to deliver.

.~.~.~.~.

"You are very grave this evening." Sybil observed nibbling on her half of a meat sandwich she had bought from a street vendor.

"Am I?" Matthew said taking a bite of his half of the sandwich. "Work." He said matter of factly.

"Do you enjoy being back at your trade?" The question was blunt, intrusive even and so terribly Sybil.

Matthew placed his sandwich inside the wrapper, finding he had no appetite. "I have not really considered it honestly. It is quite enough to get through the day."

"I adore medicine."

"Didn't you adore politics?"

She considered this for but a moment before responding, "I suppose I did. But medicine suits me far better. It's so very practical."

"Is that what you intended to inform your parents."

"I have not decided what if anything to tell mama and papa."

Matthew smiled, "The women in your tribe do adore their secrets."

"I hate them actually." Sybil said finishing her sandwich and dusting the crumbs from her hands. "Still sometimes one has to protect one's self from society's mores and outdated notions."

"That is entirely practical." Matthew agreed pulling his gloves on.

Sybil eyed Matthew unsure how to pose her next question. Opting to simply delve in she questioned, "Is that the tactic you will use on mama and papa…regarding Mary."

Chuckling Mathew pressed, "You mean by which lie will I try and excuse my elopement and decampment to London."

"You do frame things in the most negative fashion." Sybil said frowning.

"Actually I have decided to offer no explanation. Mary and I are both well of age, the family certainly pushed us toward it… if they press I'll play the sympathetic invalid."

Sybil shook he head, "I do wish you would not use that term. Mary does not see you that way, I certainly do not."

"You and Mary are different."

Sybil pondered his words. "But you do like being married. You will tell mama and papa that."

Matthew smiled indulgently at Sybil," Sybil we informed you of the nature of our marriage."

"I know perfectly what you told me." Sybil agreed evenly and somewhat mysteriously. "I also know you and Mary…." Further elaboration was impossible for the car stopped before Grantham House.

.~.~.~.~.

"Well Robert with only Mary, Edith and I," Cora said warmly, "I suppose you will join us."

"Certainly," He agreed rising from the table.

Mary was uncertain whether her deep inward sense of relief was due to that news or to the blessed end of the meal. The entire dinner had been a protracted exercise in stilted conversation and pauses of near epic length. Who would believe that one meal with her parents and Edith could be so awkward. She had even yearned for Sybil's ritualistic anatomical discussion. Anything to break up the monotony of the meal.

As she trailed behind her family, Mary heard her father bellow, "Sybil, Matthew!"

The next ten minutes were spent with her father briefly questioning Sybil before turning his entire attention on Matthew. Mary was divided between relief at their return, and peevishness that her father seemed far more effusive at the sight of Matthew than when he had greeted her or Sybil, apparently some things would never change. She might have found that comforting if it had not felt so hurtful. Worse it meant that she was stranded in further conversation with her mother.

"Adeline Query was married a few weeks ago." Cora noted sounding as excited as Adeline might have been.

"She found someone to marry her." Mary remarked icily, hoping her tone would dampen her mother's excitement.

Cora frowned at her daughter saying only, "It was the loveliest of weddings. Such beautiful flowers, course upon course of food, dancing all so very beautiful."

"How disgusting," Sybil pronounced frowning at the mere idea. "People are starving."

"Adeline never had the least tact." Mary drawled in a bored tone, "She's the very type who would hold a tea to raise awareness for famine victims, then tell her servants to toss out all the left over food."

"Well she could hardly send it to India." Cora retorted peevishly.

"Sometimes Mama I do fear you miss the entire point." Mary pronounced turning and crossing the room toward her husband.

.~.~.~.~.

Matthew was resting in the corner watching the proceedings with distracted disinterest. Mary diagnosed his mood with frightening ease as she approached him. Edwards entered the room with a tray of champagne flutes and one smaller glass. Mary lifted the scotch and soda carrying it to Matthew. She was slowly learning his habits, becoming accustomed to his ways. He disliked champagne, a week ago she had not known that. She half wondered what she might know in a decade's time.

Matthew offered her a half smile muttering, "Thanks."

"Where is Papa?" Mary glanced around surprised to find Robert no longer amidst the family.

"He pleaded fatigue, I sent him off to bed."

Mary nodded saying, "If only mama would grow weary."

"She means well…." Matthew suggested half-heartedly. He had not quite forgiven Cora for her machinations in encouraging Lavinia's return. He understood, of course, that she meant well enough, but it had merely complicated a situation he believed far to complex even without manipulations.

"I rather doubt it," Mary said a gentle frown crossing her face. Unwilling to dwell on the thought she asked, "What were you and papa discussing?"

Matthew glanced up saying," Nothing particularly…. He asked to come to the office on Monday."

"Papa at your place of work." Mary marveled amusedly. "What other changes can the world have in store for us?"

Matthew smiled, the rarest of his smiles, one that crossed his lips and remained for a moment. "I rather think he wants to discuss something serious."

"Whatever makes you think that?"

Matthew rocked his glass, "Call it a lawyer's intuition." Mary found his words odd and was about to ask more when he suddenly turned facing her more directly. "He asked if I was taking care of you, making you happy."

"And what did you say?"

"That you were better equipped to answer the question than I…"

Mary reached down lifting his wrist and taking his hand into hers. "I am." She said realizing it to be the truth only when the words passed her lips. "And are you…"

"What?"

"Nothing." Mary said squeezing his hand. "Nothing at all…"


	6. Chapter 6

**A bit late but Happy Christmas. The reviews, story alerts and author mentions mean more than I could say. I do hope you enjoy this chapter...****The inmates have total control of the story. Rosemond is throwing an adventurous party, Mary and Matthew rediscover their bantering vibe, and Sir Richard adds a little something to every party.**

.~.~.~.~.'

By the time Rosamond was all of six years old Violet realized that she was in for quite a time with her daughter. Robert had been such a nice quiet baby, a thoughtful young boy who never even romped all that loudly. Violet had assumed all well brought up babies were like her son, then Rosemund was born. She howled loudly at feeding time, demanded constant attention as a toddler, and at age six was such a trial her nurse suffered regular migraines. Violet tried not to even consider the sheer number of nannies who had left their profession after a few months with her daughter.

By the time Rosamund celebrated her eighteenth birthday, Violet quite despaired of her daughter. She feared the girl would bring scandal down on upon Downton and or the house down upon her. As such Violet had been positively shocked when Rosemond's married the nearing 40ish Sir Marmaduke and evem more surprised when the marriage was judged a success. Violet had hoped her daughter had put her odd ideas and extravagant notions behind her, but that was never to be. And in hindsight trusting Rosamond to plan a simple, quiet dinner was like asking the fox to guard a chicken coop. Her daughter could not quite manage something simple and tasteful. Rosamund's mind was to eccentric and extravagant to handle simple feats.

Violet had felt oddly suspicious when Rosamund sent her off on an afternoon full of errand's. Clearly someone, anyone could have selected the flowers, seen to other arrangements but Rosamond had given her the list and practically begged her to see to the details. Being a good sailor, Violet followed Rosamund's instructions. She returned tired and utterly aghast to see brightly colored fabrics draped everywhere, and something of a sick smell emitting from the kitchen. Rather than give Rosamund the argument she surely anticipated, Violet marched upstairs and remained in her suit of rooms the entire afternoon.

Still, even Violet had not expected this… No one could have expected anything of the sort from a small dinner for a newly married couple. Violet considered herself not unlike Joseph Conrad upon his arrival in the Belgium Congo…mortified and disgusted at the spectacle before her eyes….Two half dressed Nubians opening the door to admit guests into Rosemund's home…. A man carrying a drum beating out some native tune. And foods on trays she was certain no Englishman ever consumed. It was so scandalous she did not know if she should march defiantly into the muck of the evening or turn and return to her room upstairs refusing to play a role in this travesty of an evening.

Deciding Rosamund would behave far to superiorly if she remained upstairs, Violet decided she had no choice but to attend, thought she certainly intended to make her displeasure obvious. Crossing the hall, Violet saw a series of small groups. As she passed each group she heard phrases such as "Shocking," "Disturbing," "Attention grabber." Violet supposed she ought to have been angered and bothered by the slurs directed at her daughter. Instead she felt relieved. Apparently half dressed Nubians was no more in style in London than in Downton, Violet felt a certain relief in that fact. She'd feared she was out of touch with current trends and would endure half-nude greeters for the remainder of her days. And as she hoped those days to be lengthy, it had been a most troubling notion.

Catching sight of her daughter, Violet marched toward her daughter, the stormiest of expressions covering her face. Rosamund met her with a cheerful smile, "Good evening Mama. You look positively marvelous."

"I look exactly as I feel uncomfortable." Violet declared demanding, "What is the means of this, this…" Violet sputtered at a total loss of words deciding on, "Spectacle!"

Rosamund turned facing her mother with a look of incredulous confusion. "Whatever can you mean mama?"

Her tone was so guileless and innocent and utterly false as to render Violet incapable of not rolling her eyes. "Oh do drop the pretense." Violet demanded. "This…whatever this is, is nothing like the quiet dinner you proposed."

"Mama," Rosamund said as if merely speaking required extreme patience. "This is the new style of party."

"This is not a style its an eyesore." Violet pronounced defiantly. "I cannot imagine what possessed you to…"

"Mama," She answered patiently, "I have not had a party in ages due to the war. And from what I understand, the new social style is more extravagant and adventurous. And you know I prefer to lead trends and refuse to follow them."

"I know you generally lead yourself into looking a complete fool." Violet agreed with an unusual coldness. "What in the world are you thinking? This was to be a simple dinner for a newly married couple. Instead I feel as if I have been admitted to some bizarre mixture of a music hall and a fleshpot," She said drawing her arms around her as if needing a protective shield, lest the party rub off on her. "I am frightfully certain someone will offer me an opium pipe at any instant."

"Mama," Rosamund replied dismissively as if the notion to ridiculous to consider, "No one would even think of offering you a pipe. Everyone knows about your terrible bronchitis."

Her daughter's tiresome literalness was always frustrating, but never so much as at that particular moment causing Violet to snap. "Whatever were you thinking…half nude greeters, fabrics so bright I'm sure at least one guest will be blinded, and whatever is in those glasses…."

"It is called a Bennett." Rosamund answered informatively.

"It looks unhealthy."

"How silly." Rosamund replied dismissing the notion with a light wave of her hand. "A Bennett has oranges in it and oranges are very healthy. My doctor had me eat two oranges a day when I was recovering from influenza two years ago. It's practically a get well tonic."

Violet faced her daughter feeling simultaneously angry, confounded and disgusted. Finally she spat, "Well pardon me while I get myself a proper English drink."

Violet turned prepared to stalk away, but was stopped by her daughter's insistent, "Mama." Rosamnd asked pointedly. "However do you know about fleshpots? Mama," She said trailing after Violet calling, "Mama?"

.~.~.~.~.'

For his part Matthew was looking around the room with the keenest of interest and a kind of frank confusion. He, Mary, and Sybil had arrived a good half hour before, and after the initial shock he had began entertaining a frank curiosity about the party. Mr. Simon's comment about Rosamund's parties being adventurous seemed quite spot on, and as such he had decided to simply view the gathering like an experimental type of theater. After Mary shook her head at the server's offer of a golden drink and returned to his side he beckoned her to lower her head closer to his confiding, "I don't understand the theme. I've never been to Africa. Have you?"

"Certainly not." Mary answered brusquely sounding vaguely affronted at the mere notion. "I would never go to a foreign country where lions and tigers roam about. That is not the sort of place I would frequent." She said archly. "And before you say anything Matthew, have I not told you what I think of our cousins who are colonialists in Kenya. That is just not the sort of thing that the aristocracy should be engaging in…."

"Yes I do remember that chat. You really are an awful snob on that subject." His tone was so matter of fact and non-judgmental, simply stating the obvious.

"I am a snob on a great many subjects." She agreed smartly, seeming utterly pleased by the idea.

"Perhaps dearest you should look that word up." Matthew suggested kindly, "I'm not entirely convinced it is the superior quality that you assume." He caught her eye roll suggesting she knew better than he on this topic well on all topics…"I do find it fascinating though," Matthew observed curiously. "You would not go colonial because of the tigers… But you don't mind going to parties with them."

"Whatever are you babbling about?" Mary questioned feeling momentarily thrown. It had felt so right to have her old clever bantering partner back. As if she and Matthew were the wittiest duo at the party…. His actual meaning had become blurry, it just felt so right settling into the old bantering, the teasing.

In reply Matthew pointed to the leased tiger walking beside a half dressed Nubian. "Nice of Rosamund to let him bring his pet to the party."

"Do you think I would be considered cowardly, if I retreated to the morning room, locked the door, and remained there the entire evening?" Mary asked seriously laying a trembling hand upon his shoulder.

.~.~.~.~.'

"Even for your sister this seems a very strange affair." Cora observed over the top of her wine glass. "I fear the war has had a disagreeable effect on her ideas of taste."

"Rosamund has always loved drama." Robert said loyally.

'I know that," Cora agreed sounding a peevish note. Robert's devotion to his sister had always been worsened by the glaring blind spot he had toward Rosamund's eccentricities. "But this…"

"This is extreme, even for her, I'll grant you… Still," He said hesitating only a moment and glancing across the room. "It is good to see her enjoying herself. And Mary and Matthew do look so well together."

"All I keep thinking," Cora said softly, "Is that they cannot even dance together. One more thing they can never do." She said sourly before adding, "A list that seems to continue growing."

.~.~.~.~.'

"Isn't this party simply marvelous." Sybil giggled softly, happily. "So much better than our typical somber family dinners."

Edith regarded her sister with a familiar bafflement. "Sometimes I find you completely nonsensical." As if wanting to mollify her words she quickly added, "I know you are becoming accustomed to this new post war world. It quite baffles me. Patrick and I agree on that." At the mere mention of his much beloved name a rosy flush crossed Edith's face casting her features in the prettiest of lights.

Seeing the change in her sister Sybil smiled noting, "I have never seen you so happy."

"I have never been so happy." Edith agreed firmly, a little embarrassed but proud none the less. "Being with Patrick, renewing our friendship and…" And here she blushed deeply, becoming suddenly mute.

Sybil smiled patting Sybil's arm, "I am so happy for you."

"I am certain there is a better moment for saying this…" Edith paused before continuing on, "Will you be my attendant?"

Sybil reached out clasping her sister's hand for the second time in as many moments. "Of course I will, I would be so pleased too."

"Good. But I do warn you, your dress will be horrible. I am quite determined no one will outshine me on my wedding day."

Sybil giggled finding it impossible not to be cheered by Edith's happiness. "I will don whatever gown you select and most happily stand only in your shadow."

Edith fairly glowed as she said, "I can assure you it will be such a happy day. I intend for everyone in Downton to have a marvelous time."

Even amidst her joy for her sister, Sybil felt a quiet trepidation voicing it in as a kind a tone as she could muster. "You realize you have to invite Mary to the wedding."

Edith sighed regretfully, "I suppose so."

.~.~.~.~.'

"Sir Anthony," Violet said causing Isobel, who had been arguing with her over London society, to turn to face Anthony Strallen.

"Good evening ladies." He said cheerily. "How pleasant to see you both and in London."

"I did not know that you ever left your property." Violet said perhaps more bluntly than necessary.

Anthony's lips turned downward as if in sadness. "I do miss my land, still from time to time I confess I do enjoy city life. And how very opportune that my visit coincided with your granddaughter and Mr. Crawley's happy news."

"Yes." Violet agreed warily. Truth be told she was never certain what to discuss with Sir Anthony. He was forever going on and on about agricultural equipment, and the beauties of the land. She certainly thought Downton beautiful, but felt no need to go on about speaking about it. To discuss one's emotions in such a rapturous tone was simply not English.

Isobel naturally felt no such compunction inquiring, "And how are your lands?"

Sir Anthony's smile became very nearly beatific and he stumbled over his words as if in eagerness as he began, "Well of course there is so much to report."

Violet ran her hand over her eyes confessing, "I do feel a headache coming on."

Isobel frowned saying enthusiastically, "Please do carry on Sir Anthony."

Violet frowned, she had always found Isobel a singularly annoying creature but never more so than at this moment.

.~.~.~.~.'

She might have said more, much more had not her attention and indeed the attention of every guest turned as Sir Richard Carlisle strolled into the room. "Good evening all!" His voice boomed crisscrossing the room, like a pair of scissors slicing into each conversation, for the room became silent as the grave. One by one each head turned to focus on the booming voice and larger than life presence of the publisher. "I do hope I am not late. I would not wish to miss a second of the festivities."

"What a pleasant surprise Sir Carlisle." Rosamund cooed offering her newest guest the brightest of smiles, while languidly crossing the room to extend her arm to him. "We never dreamed you would grace our small family party."

"This is a small family party?" Violet clucked to Isobel, "I thought it had the making of a circus…. Complete with the wild animals roaming about."

"My dear Lady Painswick I was so charmed by your invitation, I could not think of declining."

""How very kind." Rosamund replied coolly. "I only hope we can keep you entertained."

"I am quite certain I shall find the evening most entertaining." He retorted smiling happily.

"But of course I was not certain you were coming and have not planned for sufficient preparation.

"Surely that will be no trouble," Richard said playfully. "I assure you my appetite is slight."

"Of course there is the matter of seating," Rosamund demurred pleasantly.

Richard smiled even wider, "Oh I am quite certain you can fetch a chair. I'm not particular."

"Oh there is no need for that." Matthew interjected matter of factly, "He can have my chair," He said gesturing to his wheel chair. "I brought my own."

Richard beamed appreciatively, "Well then it is very settled." Turning he regarded Rosamund with the cheeriest of smiles, "Lady Painswick will you allow me to take you in to dinner?"

Rosamund assented with a brief nod and a pleasant, "But of course my dear Mr. Carlisle." Taking his arm she led the path into the dining room.

.~.~.~.~.'

"You do not think this was your sister's idea?" Cora asked lowly as they walked several paces behind Rosamund and Sir Richard into the dining room.

"Of course not." Robert said keeping a watchful eye on Carlisle.

"She does enjoy her dramatics." Cora said careful to maintain her composed expression.

Robert scowled replying, "Not this. Surely not this."

"This does fit in her line." Cora said taking her seat. "Shocking people, getting a reaction no matter the cost."

"Surely not." Robert repeated, his tone less certain than even seconds before.

.~.~.~.~.'

"Well," Violet sighed loudly and dramatically. "This evening is descending to ever lower standards of decency and tact. If Rosamund had an ounce of sense she would have the butler escort that man out and the more roughly the better." Shaking her head in dismay, Violet stalked toward the dining room making certain to strike her cane loudly against the floor lest anyone be in ignorance of her temper.

"Well I do say," Sir Anthony muttered uncomfortably. "I do feel for Lady Mary and your son. This is sure to make for a difficult meal."

Isobel smiled stating, "I have great confidence in my son and daughter-in-law."

Sir Anthony smiled observing, "As do I." He extended his arm stating, "I wonder if I might escort you into dinner Mrs. Crawley."

"That would be my pleasure." Isobel answered taking his arm, following Violet's path toward the dining room albeit in a more conservative fashion.

.~.~.~.~.'

"It appears we will be the last to join the party." Matthew noted evenly.

"Must we?" She said looking deeply pained. "Can we not just go home."

"To Downton."

"Home to our house."

Matthew considered her words for a moment. "You know we cannot."

"Of course not." Mary agreed sourly. "We must keep up appearances at all costs." She said so disagreeably, it caused Matthew to look up in surprise. "I cannot imagine what Aunt Rosamund was thinking putting us through this."

"Putting us through this."

"Must you repeat every word I say." Mary agreed angrily. "I feel as if I am in the presence of an irksome parrot."

"I apologize." Matthew said quietly. "But I cannot allow you to slur your aunt's name." He insisted glancing up at her. "She did not invite Richard." He paused only a second before confiding. "I did."

"You did."

"Who is the parrot now?" He queried a bit lamely, reaching for some humor to lighten the situation.

Mary glanced down at him as if searching for an explanation. "Whatever for…"

Studying her but a moment Matthew said, "Later. For now I need you to keep that beautiful smile on your face." He said calmly. "No matter what keep smiling."

"Smiling," She repeated the word as if saying the vilest of profanities. "How can I…"

"Don't ask how," His voice was tight, and his expression twisted as if angry. "The same way I do each day." Mollifying his tone only slightly he said, "For your own sake do as I say." Almost as an afterthought he added, "Trust me."

Staring at him, as if searching for something Mary finally fixed her features smiling as she said, "Very well." She said walking behind him to push his chair toward the dining room.

.~.~.~.~.'

The next hour passed in an endless unbearable atmosphere of anxiety for Mary. Course after course of sumptuous dishes were toted out and consumed. She had not the slightest notion what the food was, and found it tasted akin to saw dust from the estate's mill. Every course seemed more protracted and more tense than the last, and while Mary kept up the mask of a blissfully contented newlywed, inside her nerves raced and her stomach churned unbearably. Much like Pamuk, who she tried not to constantly think about without much success, she had misjudged Sir Richard Carlisle. Or else as with Pamuk she had been drawn to power and self-confidence heedless of the dangers if that power or self-confidence was threatened. Now in a room with Sir Richard she questioned how she could have ever judged him acceptable. His preening, his self-absorption, his self-fascination it combined to leave her irritated and utterly put out. Yet, his power and the secrets he knew left her nearly quaking in fear.

Beside her Matthew seemed totally serene, yet oddly alert. On his lap she could see his fingers drumming his unfeeling leg, the lone clue that he might well feel some anxiety.

Leaning closer so that only he could hear he Mary whispered, "Why would you invite him?"

"Good manners and proper breeding." He said lightly.

"Neither of which sea monsters possess."

He smiled ironically, "Let's simply say it fits into my plan."

"What plan?" She questioned feeling a primal fear.

Smiling he said, "You shall see."

"You know I despise secrets and I've hated surprises since Edith was born."

"And yet are strangely adept at keeping them." He said soothingly. "Let me learn from your fine example." She was about to retort when she saw Sir Richard begin rising from his chair.

"I wonder if I might make a toast." Richard announced rising to his feet and lifting his glass. " Like a showman he waited until all eyes rested on him before proclaiming, "On behalf of all of us I would like to thank Lady Painswick for this most enjoyable of evenings. She has certainly given us a most memorable and unique experience."

Rosamund smiled looking like an excessively pleased Cheshire cat, whereas Mary fought the bile in her stomach. Glancing in her direction Richard said, "Losing my dear Mary was a terrific blow, but it was eased by the fact she is with one of our valiant warriors. Seeing them together I think no fate could better suit them than a lifetime together." He eyed Mary and she felt the waves of contempt rolling off his tongue. He lifted a glass locking his gaze on her, "Best wishes for a lifetime together."

Mary watched as the assembled guests smiled stupidly and raised their glasses in tribute. The stupidity of the masses always astounded Mary, but never more than at that moment. A roomful of London society who had not one clue Sir Richard Carlisle had just insulted she and Matthew, and never let the smile drop from his face while doing so.

She felt a sudden burning desire to give her own toast, but was instantly checked and also utterly terrified to see Matthew lifting his glass and raising his voice stating, "First off our grateful thanks to Lady Painswick for such an unusual and enjoyable evening." He smiled genuinely at Rosamund. "Next I would like to acknowledge Mary's and my gratitude to Sir Richard." He turned slightly facing Richard, "A man of enormous wealth and influence, and yet one of such kindness and goodness. A man who sat aside his own happiness and future plans to allow me a life at a time when my future seemed a bleak and barren place." He paused letting his words saturate into the minds of the listeners. "Many others might have put up obstacles, used his power to threaten and bully me and thus blocked my happiness. Instead, he did the very opposite. Offering us a graciousness and understanding, stepping aside with the kindest of words." He forced a false smile to cover his lips as he said, "Words alone cannot convey my great gratitude to Sir Richard. To Sir Richard," He said and was echoed by everyone at the table who raised their glasses to Sir Carlisle.

Sir Richard preened muttering, "Of course, of course."

Matthew smiled and then turned his face toward Mary, "And above all my Mary." He paused and took his time before concluding with a simple, "Thank you for everything." He smiled and held his glass aloft toasting, "To my wife."

All heads turned toward Mary who displayed her most dazzling and utterly false smile. At the very same instant, in the next room the tiger let out a mighty roar causing half the guests to drop their lifted champagne glasses. As the glasses splintered into shards and pieces, the liquid soaked the table cloth, and the room became perfumed with the odor of overly sweet champagne, Mary touched her glass to Matthew's saying acidly, "Et tu, Brute?"

.~.~.~.~.'

**Feedback is appreciated and replies are welcome to a Bennett and or to pet the tiger.**


	7. Chapter 7

Reviews are adored and revered and given chocolate and other surprises.

.~.~.~.~.'

"I did wonder why you proposed to me." Mary said fretfully as they entered their bedroom. Between uncomfortable guests, and roaring tigers Rosamund's party had come to a quick and altogether merciful ending. Mary had played the blissful bride the entire car ride home, maintaining the charade when the servants greeted them on their return. However, the instant she and Matthew were upstairs the mask fell away and her anger surged to ever greater heights. "Now I recognize it was a sign of oncoming madness." She said peeling her gloves off and tossing them on the bed.

"Perhaps it was marriage that led me to it." He retorted rolling into the room clearly bemused. Actually he'd been bemused all evening, she had found it extremely annoying and rather incomprehensible. Even the roar of the tiger seemed to elicit little more than the gentlest of smiles from Matthew. Honestly it was simply beyond her to make the slightest sense of the man. She was disrupted from such thoughts by his voice maddeningly calm, placid almost saying, "My dear you must remember I am a solicitor."

This was a thing Mary found perfectly maddening about her husband. He would make some broad, typically ridiculous comment and then wait for her to rise to the proverbial bait and question his meaning. Well she certainly was not about to that. He could very well wait and wait as far as she was concerned. This decided she sat down upon the corner of her bed with her haughtiest of expressions, facing him emotionless and silently. She marked the passage of time out of the corner of her eye, counting off five, ten, and interminably fifteen minutes.

Finally he intoned, "I have sat in a muddy trench for hours waiting for the call to go over. To sit in a lovely house waiting is no trouble."

"You are a commercial solicitor. " Mary said irritably picking up the thread of their conversation at precisely where they had left off. "I thought I would spend evening hearing about stocks and bonds, not being confronted with my ex-fiancée."

"Count yourself lucky." He answered saying, "I could be recounting my boring meetings and mind numbing legal documents."

"I think I would prefer that."

Matthew studied her fixing her with a sardonic grin,"Very well. Last week I represented a man who had several pints in a pub a few streets over. He then got sick in the street and was picked up by a bobbie."

"How vile." Mary declared a repulsed expression crossing her face. "I told you I believe that your firm is ill using you and introducing you to the very wrongest sort of people."

"He is a PM for Exeter."

"There are PM's from Exeter?" She sounded genuinely confused. "I cannot imagine that anyone from Exeter would have very much to contribute to Parliament."

"Apparently he rather excels at offering pints to all comers."

Mary placed a fake shocked expression on her face, "Matthew Crawley!" She did not feel even slightly shocked, but everyone had to play their part in a marriage. Matthew told these stories to shock her and she very well had to appear most shocked. It was as close a shared game as they had in their most unusual marriage.

He shrugged smiling as if quite amused, "I told you."

"Richard is dangerous." Mary said frankly, deciding it best to return to the former subject, welcome as the moment of levity had been. "He has the power to destroy me." Her voice was quiet, very nearly a whisper.

"No one will destroy you." He promised rolling toward the bed. Letting the chair bump up against the bed, he twisted slightly so as to clasp her hands. "You are far stronger than Richard Carlisle."

"And he is far more powerful than I am, than you, or my family."

Matthew considered this comment for a moment before replying, "Perhaps, but perhaps we can mitigate his power."

At his words Mary looked upwards meeting his eyes with a curious hope, "However would we do that?"

In response, Matthew wheeled his chair backwards and then turned toward his dressing area.

"Matthew we are not finished discussing this."

"I left the clippings in my desk."

Sighing dramatically Mary followed him asking, "What clipping?"

.~.~.~.~.'

"Robespierre!" Sir Richard bellowed slamming the door behind him. "Robespierre!" He repeated throwing his gloves down furiously atop the entry table. His Eaton address was a mere eight doors from Rosamund's, but he had walked its length four times already and still felt no relief from his angers. Anger was not a new emotion to him, one did not climb from the mines to Eaton Square without possessing a drive, and such drives rarely came to content men. Carnegie could prattle on about his libraries and his benevolence; such were the vagaries of an elderly man. Little use was a library to a man who worked seven days a week in filthy and dangerous conditions. A decent wage and reasonable hours would better serve Carnegie's workers. But that might cut into his pocketbook far more than a small building and a few shelves of books…. Still pointless gestures did well to sooth aching consciousness. Perhaps Carnegie could look at the nice buildings and fine texts and convince himself of a great many lies, he might otherwise find difficult to believe. Every man must make his own bargain with his soul.

"Something the matter, sir?" Robespierre questioned hurriedly approaching, well recognizing the familiar hue spreading across his employer's visage. Rather than answer the servant, Richard hurried across the room stopping at his drink cart and pouring himself a generous amount of Scotch. He took a large gulp, letting the burn travel down his innards. "Lady Mary?" Robespierre guessed careful to maintain the neutral tone least likely to rankle Sir Richard.

Richard turned angrily replying, "Her annoying crippled husband."

Robespierre nodded saying, "Mr. Matthew Crawley." Richard's head swung around, an unspoken question on his face. "A war hero. His name was well reported."

"Not in my newspapers!"

"In the local papers during your stay at Downton," Robespierre explained as coolly as possible.

Carlisle took another drink, "Yes they made him out to be quiet the hero." Sitting his drink down, Richard tugged at his tie loosening the scrap of fabric then unbuttoning his collar. "How in the world becoming paralyzed makes one a hero I do not know. Men used to be expected to go out and do a thing. Now every wounded veteran is somehow awarded respect of the highest order."

"He was wounded for our queen and country." Robespierre stated careful to glance downward lest he upset his employer. He quickly added, "Has he disturbed you?"

"Since the very instant we met." Richard retorted taking a second gulp of his drink. Finishing it he opened the bottle and poured a generous amount into the glass. "He was positively oozing gratitude at dinner tonight, as if a second catheter had been installed in his mouth."

"And that was incorrect?"

"His words no, his intention however was quite lacking." Lifting his glass Carlisle held it aloft as he spoke his Scottish lilt more obvious than usual, "How elegant and refined all the Crawleys are…all clever of tongue and yet weak of work or effort."

Robespierre said formally, "That is common flaw of the aristocracy." Robespierre had been instructed as a term of his employment with Sir Richard to read nightly on the aristocracy and their kind. At that time Richard Carlisle was a mere reporter, but one with ambitions and drive well beyond that rank.

"It is rot those of us who fight and claw our way up are perceived as lacking merely because we do not confirm to their notions. I lost count of the number of times Lady Mary corrected me for some perceived social faux pas. As if one should simply know and accept the rules of Downton or Brympton House or some other such house. As if such rules should interest me in the slightest…"

"Perhaps you and Lady Mary are better apart." It was dangerous territory but frankly so obvious that a blinded veteran could witness it. Never had two such temperamentally ill-suited individuals been brought together. Robespierre had seen that at first glance and been stunned one so typically astute as Sir Richard was so unwilling to recognize that fact.

Carlisle chuckled; a hard sound that Robespierre recognized suggested little merriment. "

"Undoubtly." He agreed, "But that does not mean I intend to let her have her happily ever after with her impotent, crippled war hero."

"Bit Sir." Robespierre interjected quite nervously.

In response Sir Richard smiled, "No I must continue to make myself interested in her life, remind her quite often of what she gave up. Make certain that impotent fool feels no relief or victory." He smiled, "If I am to be made unhappy by them, why then should I not make them unhappy in turn."

.~.~.~.~.'

"I do not understand." Mary admitted staring at the numerous clippings that Matthew had spread across his bed.

"Most of it is the worst kind of rubbish." He pronounced curtly as if seeing the articles had served to fuel a kind of anger within him. The articles were printed under the bylines of the Yorkshire Chronicle, The Times, The Yorkshire Daily and at least a dozen other newspapers. Each and every article promoted Matthew and wrote of him in only the most glowing of terms. Mary had time to only scan the articles as Matthew quickly restacked them, tossing them back into the long envelope he had stored the articles inside a drawer in his desk.

"I don't understand," Mary confessed feeling the night continued to unroll surprise after surprise. "You never said…"

Matthew seemed not to hear her saying heatedly, "The very kind of nonsense that got us into the war," He said with a slight sigh, "Still we had best use this country's militarism and sentimentalism to suit our own ends."

"Our own ends," She repeated his words in the style of repeating a foreign phrase found on the side of a travel pamplet. "Pray tell whatever does that mean?" She sounded positively exhausted; the entire evening had simply worn her out. The few light hearted moments she had shared with her husband, seemed washed away by newspaper stories, and Richard Carlisle and roaring tigers.

Matthew combed his fingers through his hair seeming even more frustrated, as if the mere mention of the situation irritated him. "There is a certain value in this chair….or rather in people's perceptions of this chair." Mary started to speak but reigned herself in, motioning for Matthew to continue. "For whatever reasons a soldier in a chair is quite instantly proclaimed a hero, and in our situation there may be a slight benefit in that type of addled thinking." Matthew lifted his gaze to hers saying, "Whenever Sir Richard breaks his news if he breaks his news," He said owing to the nervous expression covering Mary's visage at his mere words… "We can play the wounded veteran card."

Mary closed her eyes, "I wish you wouldn't."

"Mary," He said reaching for her hand and clasping it within his own. "There are a great many things I can never provide you."

"I've told you," She said insistently, uncomfortable as always whenever any kind of emotion ventured near her.

"I know," He said acknowledging her words with a nod, "But dear the one thing I can provide you is a heroic ending." Seeing her questioning expression Matthew continued, "We may know the truth, however the image the public is receiving is that of a selfless woman putting aside an easy, comfortable life to care for an invalid."

"You are not an invalid." She argued determinedly, forcing the words out quickly before he had time to stop her.

Matthew turned away as if distancing himself from her words, "That is how I will be seen for the rest of my days." Shaking his head as if dispelling an uncomfortable thought he mollified his phrase saying more acceptingly, "But that does not matter… The fact is it gives us a useful tool. Should Carlisle," And he said the name as if tasting a bad piece of beef, "Come out with the story… We have several factors which may come to our assistance."

Mary's expression became most dubious and she said, "I cannot imagine what…"

"For one the events were almost a decade ago. Before the war…belonging to a wholly different time. That is a true asset." Matthew stated expounding a bit as if back at his office.

"That may not matter." Mary said dubiously.

"Possibly not, but I think it may. If some of the doings Sybil reports are true at country house parties, and at those Jazz parties she goes to…then darling your scandal would bore that lot to absolute tears."

"We will see." Mary said sounding far from convinced. "What is the other factor? You did say factors."

He smiled granting, "I did. If time has not changed, then you will be viewed as having a near heroic streak. All those silly articles about me as a hero… I had them planted as it were so that if the news came out people might remember you had thrown Carlisle aside for a poor crippled veteran. That decision may mitigate any questions about your personal morals."

Mary contemplated his words at length squeezing his hand. "I cannot pretend I think any of it will work out as you plan. Still," She offered him a determined smile, "I do appreciate you effort on my behalf."

"On my behalf," He repeated her words in a teasing fashion. "How very serious you sound Lady Mary Crawley."

She glanced up suddenly serious and for Mary rather pensive in expression. "What do I do if he still comes out with…my story." In that pause he saw the story of her life, or at least the story she believed; the saga of a sullied, spoiled and disgraced woman, going along as best she could.

Her worries seemed to both concern and console Matthew, touched him really that she worried about the view of a world he thought had largely withered away in places like Verdun, the Somme and Ypres. "Well," He said determinedly, "You do absolutely nothing." Seeing her ready to protest he said, "However we will do something. I will take my bride off adventuring."

.~.~.~.~.'

"Well," Rosamund drawled entering the room with a determined smile. "You cannot say that you attend this kind of party every day."

"I cannot say I have ever attended this type of gathering ever before." Violet agreed sharply.

"Mama," Rosamund countered deliberately. "I know that perhaps this evening was a tiny bit different than you imagined but…"

"A tiny bit." Violet repeated arching a single eyebrow.

"Alright it was a great deal different than any of us imagined still….."

"It was an out and out disaster." Robert's outburst so atypical to his typical personality caused Rosamund to almost jump. "I cannot imagine what you were thinking." He finished angrily, releasing an audible sigh as if needing physical expression of his frustration.

"I would imagine you could not." Rosamund agreed her voice suddenly cold. "Robert, you've shown precious little imagination throughout this entire affair."

"Meaning?"

"This will do us no good." Cora said intervening. "We're all upset enough and tired enough without snapping at one another."

"I certainly agree, with all this snapping I fear I am in an American western saloon." Violet drawled.

Cora ignored her comment saying primly, "The important thing is for us to rally around Mary."

"And Matthew of course," Violet added in so pointed a fashion that it could not be ignored.

"Of course." Cora agreed with muted enthusiasm.

"I have great concern for both of them," Robert admitted fingering the cut of the tumbler in his hand. "And I do think no two stronger storm bravers ever were known. Still," He said with an uncomfortable gaze. "They did select a fearsome enemy."

"A penny paper man?" Seeing all heads swing toward her Violet shrugged acknowledging, "I read American newspapers from time to time. He is much disliked in those pages. It makes me feel perhaps all Americans are not totally unlikeable."

"Well penny, shilling whatever the currency he can use his papers to damage them."

"Damage," Cora said shaking her head. "How naïve you are. He can destroy them."

Violet eyed her daughter in law pronouncing, "So hysterical. No Crawley could be destroyed by scandal. And she is married now. The entire scandal becomes less toxic by the day."

"Socially perhaps," Cora agreed swiftly adding, "But a man like Carlisle could pose a threat."

"Then," Rosamund interjected suddenly steely, "We shall have to put our trust in our solicitor heir." Robert and Violet nodded, while Cora's expression became mysterious, unreadable even.

.~.~.~.~.'

"Do you like living with them?" Edith asked interestedly. After Matthew and Mary's departure the remaining Crawleys had divided along age and social lines. Sybil and Edith had crept into the silent library eager for the respite from the emotions of their elders.

"Yes," Sybil said sitting on the couch her legs curled up under her. "Not that I didn't like home but…"

"You like London better."

Sybil glanced down, "I do miss you so much."

Edith reached out and squeezed Sybil's hand, "It's alright you know, truly… Now with Patrick my life its…its so full."

"Do you think you will like being mistress of Downton."

"I will love being Patrick's wife." Edith cooed happily. "And what of you… "

Sybil glanced out her before replying, "I am studying to be a doctor."

"What?" Edith said a delighted smile crossing her face. "Does anyone know?"

Sybil nodded, "Isobel, Granny, Matthew and Mary."

"But not mama and papa?"

"No." Sybil said attempting to affect the most casual of tones. "Not yet."

Edith stared into the fire saying, "You know they will not be pleased."

"I know." Sybil said and it was a tinny sound.

.~.~.~.~.'

"You did not have to stay with me." Isobel said softly. She was sitting inelegantly upon the red carpet of the steps of the elegant front staircase.

"I know I did not." Anthony said softly. "But I gathered you did not wish to join the discussion in the salon."

Isobel smiled stroking her pearls admitting in a confessional tone, "Since the war matters have been strained."

"Your war work did not suit the family." It was a statement rather than a question.

"No." Isobel said flatly, "They connived to pack me off to France and I connived to go." She sighed saying, "In Manchester, I told Matthew he would have to adapt. It turns out I was the one who required the lessons."

"Well," Anthony said brushing his free arm over his knee. "I am certain now that the madness is finished you can focus on putting things right."

Isobel studied him carefully, "I wonder. I am not certain this world can get back and reconcile matters with the old world. Perhaps now is all we have or ever will have. " She sounded slightly depressed by the notion.

"Is that why you have settled here?"

Isobel slanted her head slightly saying, "I have become accustomed to being useful. And now with my son and daughter-in-law living here, it all feels very suitable."

Anthony was about to speak when he heard the tapping of Violet's cane and instinctively rose, and equally instinctively extended his hand to Isobel. She took it and was standing when Violet and the others entered the hall. "I take it we will be dropping you at that organization on our way home."

"I thought you were staying here?" Isobel asked curiously.

"Given my daughter's conduct I believe a change in location is advisable for both our well beings." She shook her head saying, "I suppose middle class families do not have gatherings of this sort."

"I must confess this is the first such event I have attended." Isobel admitted enjoying the moment rather less than she might have imagined.

Violet shook her head, "My daughter's gatherings are far too often of this sort. Shocking and ill considered."

"And yet entertaining." Isobel said determined not to ally herself with Violet's mindset.

"Unforgettable," Violet said appearing to almost agree. "Rather like the spectacle of a train wreck."

"She is a woman of great spirit." Isobel argued reaching for the wrap the maid was handing her.

"And precious little brains." Violet said drawing her own wrap close about her body.

A few feet away Cora muttered to her sister-in-law, "You mustn't take Robert's words to much to heart. He is understandably worried."

"Oh I never take Mama or my brother's words entirely seriously, or anyone else's for that matter." Rosamund concurred agreeably. "Cora do you think it is too late for me to telephone Mrs. Hughes?"

"Mrs. Hughes?" Cora queried mimicking the words out of sheer surprise. "I suppose not, may I ask why?"

"My maid informed me she has not the slightest idea how to remove tiger urine from oriental rugs." Rosamund stated mournfully.

.~.~.~.~.'

"Adventuring?" Mary parroted the word comically. "I cannot see either of us as the adventuring sort."

"Oh I don't know," Matthew countered with a lopsided smile, "I rather fancy the notion of you riding an elephant."

"You are mentally unwell." She pronounced completing the sentence with a warm smile that mitigated her words.

"Think of it." He declared grandly, "We take an extended honeymoon far, far away. Give tongues time to wag and wear out the story. By the time we returned you would merely be the wife of a solicitor and as such of little interest."

Mary regarded him for a moment before sniffing affectedly, "I would always be of interest."

"That is the Mary Crawley, I know." He agreed offering a quick grin.

Mary turned to face him saying, "I hardly see myself on an elephant though, and besides I do have one stipulation."

"Oh." He replied easily, finding his mood light and oddly agreeable.

"I select the location…for our extended trip."

Matthew faced her, his eyes sparkling; animated in a fashion she had not witnessed since before that horrible garden party. "Why do I believe that you've already chosen the place?"

Mary smiled delighted to have her old sparring partner back. "Well you cannot be the only one in this marriage with secrets and surprises."


	8. Chapter 8

.~.~.~.~.

"Mr. Crawley," Henderson intoned opening the door. There was a particular drawl to Henderson's tone that suggested his every visitor was one cousin from the king. This was especially interesting considering Henderson was a firm anti-Monarchist, and quite liberal in his political thoughts.

Matthew glanced up from the document he was reading, "Yes."

"Mrs. Crawley is here." Henderson said this as if such an announcement was a normal event.

Matthew nodded distractedly; Isobel was due for a visit. "Send my mother in."

Henderson corrected him saying blissfully, "Mrs. Matthew Crawley."

Matthew did not know Henderson smiled or sounded kind, much less blissful. He could have happily lived without knowing that… "Send her in."

Smiling warmly, Mary acted as if stepping into her husband's place of work was an everyday occurrence. Entering just behind her Henderson stood formally inquiring, "Would you care for tea?"

Matthew glanced at Mary who merely smiled non-committedly, "Not for the present." He thought his tone curt, but made no attempt to mollify his words.

Henderson nodded and politely backed out of the room, softly closing the door behind him. After the door was closed Mary said, "Why… he is nothing like you described him."

"He is nothing like that generally." Matthew said a bit perplexed by his wife's effect on the firm's most serious secretary. "I have never seen him like that actually…"

Mary seemed amused by his words asking, "And what is he usually like?"

"Pompous and boorish," He pronounced adding, "What brings you here?"

"Really Matthew," She said frowning, "Can't a wife choose to visit her husband's place of work."

"Of course," He granted easily. "However, considering you have never come to my office, this is something of a surprise."

"I have never come to your office." Mary repeated placing her bag on a table near the door. "Really Matthew you act as if we have been married for years and years. We've been wed just over a fortnight. A time in which I have been setting up a house and answering literally hundreds of congratulation letters." She sighed taking the chair opposite his desk, "Really who imagined there were so very many ways to congratulate one on getting a ring on your finger."

"It is probably the drama." Matthew decided seemingly focused once more on the document before him. "A young woman with bright prospects of wealth, losing her sense and marrying a cripple. The least they can do is send you a cheering note and a tasteful gift."

"The very least." She agreed smiling at his sudden sharp glance upward.

Much to his surprise and against his inclinations Matthew felt his mood lighten, even if only for an instant. In almost a cheerful mood he queried. "Well what do you think?"

Mary glanced around interestedly once more. "I do not know really. I have never been inside an office of this sort before." She smiled saying, "Aside from you papa does not trust solicitors."

"I have always felt your father liked me in spite of my taking a profession."

"Well," Mary said with the slightest of smiles. "It does seem terribly middle class of you."

"Upper," Matthew said. Seeing Mary's slightly arched brow he explained smiling, "All Mrs. Crawley's add the upper to the middle class. And as you are…"

"Mrs. Crawley." She said and they exchanged the very smallest of smiles.

.~.~.~.~.'

As much as he protested otherwise, Robert really did enjoy the season. Or rather he had enjoyed the times before the war when London still seemed to have a season. The city seemed different now. One could not pass five street corners without seeing a sign of the war. Men wandering about with one coat sleeve flapping in the light breeze, a man wearing a pair of spectacles so dark it was obvious no light would ever be seen by those eyes again. He had grown used to such sights at Downton, however they had thankfully vanished after the war. In the city they were apparently permanent parts of the landscape.

Throughout the last four years, Robert had convinced himself the war world of empowered women and wounded men and the terrible, terrible sadness was a temporary place. The war would end and society would right itself. Now it seemed this odd, dislocated world was the ongoing reality. And he just had no use for it. This new world was a place for Sybil and Matthew possibly Mary, but he could find no role in it.

Matthew, as always the thought of his dear boy made his heart gladden. Matthew was by law no longer his heir, he was by marriage his son-in-law. Yet his feelings for Matthew far, far outstripped an heir or son-in-law. Aside from his girls there was no one he thought more of and wanted more for than dear Matthew.

How well he remembered that stiff proud fellow who walked into his life talking of work and weekends and a dozen other odd and Robert felt unthinkable ideas. When Robert thought of work, he envisioned Downton. It seemed wrong that this young man thought his duty to the estate should only compromise his weekends and an hour squeezed in here and there. Yet, now Robert felt increasingly that his dear boy was correct. The era of easy days running Downton was rapidly ending. Maintaining Downton was going to require income and hard work.

It was an uncomfortable irony that the qualities Robert most respected in Matthew, were the very traits he knew would never have surfaced had he sired his own son. As thankful as he was to have dear Patrick back, and he could never be grateful enough for that return…. He knew the post war world was more suited to a man of Matthew's temperament than Patrick's. Such were the matters he intended to discuss as he stepped from the car to enter a small nondescript building located on a side street just outside London.

.~.~.~.~.'

"So what do you think of my office, Mrs. Crawley?" Matthew asked interestedly, a slight smile tugging at the corner of his lips. The initial ease of the moment before had fallen away and as ever he was instantly aware of the reality of their situation. So he crept back to the banter that he still felt comfortable, thanking God anything felt comfortable.

"I am not certain. I have never been to an office before." She said turning her head toward a subtle pinging sound that repeated every few seconds. "Whatever is that?"

"A typewriter."

Mary smiled seeming amused, "Like our maid had?"

"I'm thinking of getting one for my study at home."

"Whatever for?" Mary queried petulantly. "You are not going to spend more hours working." She understood his need for work, but she tired of evenings where Sybil trotted off to her room to study and Matthew closed himself off in his study for hours on end.

"I'd like to record some of my experiences during the war." His tone was off handed, yet to casual to be off the cuff. Mary tended to say whatever came to her mind the very instant it came to her mind. Matthew however took his time, once she had seen this as evidence of his career. Before the war it had been about the law and his focus on contracts… Now though she often felt he weighed every word rather too carefully. She found herself curious what he thought in the long pauses between his words.

"Do you think that's the wisest idea?" Her tone was even, unreadable.

"Probably not." Matthew admitted with a disinterested shrug. "I cannot really bother about wiseness." He looked over her shoulder, avoiding her eyes saying, "There are things I need to record. Try to make sense of…"

"Why?" The question might be taken as dismissive, but he decided her tone did not suggest that.

"Why not."

Mary frowned, her expression making it clear she did not countenance his idea. "I wish you would not."

Before he could respond a single knock sounded interrupting his thoughts. "Yes." His snappish reply was more agitated than he had intended, and Mary regarded him with a slightly worried expression. As such he moderated his tone repeating, "Yes Henderson."

Henson scowled slightly at Matthew before smiling beatifically at Mary announcing, "Mr. Robert Crawley is here to see you, Sir."

"Show him in please."

Henderson nodded and backed out of the room, returning with Robert who called, "Well good afternoon, Mary!" Surprise was evident in his tone; still his expression suggested the surprise was a pleasurable one. "I certainly did not expect to find you here."

"Why does everyone act as if it's strange that I should visit my husband's place of work?" Mary asked sourly and mostly to herself. She reseated herself in her former chair.

Seemingly ignoring her Robert surveyed the room with evident pleasure. "This is quite a nice place." He said glancing about him ebulliently. "Murray's office is terribly drab, but this does seem quite nice."

Matthew swallowed the cynical remarks that leapt to his mind merely saying, "Thank you."

"I understand this is an industrial practice." Robert said smiling. "Nice that you can practice in your chosen field."

"Actually," Mary announced in her primmest of tones, for her father's comment had rather irked her, "Matthew has been working as a barrister of late."

Robert drew up a bit clutching the lapels of his coat tightly, "I see."

"Only drunken MP's and the right sort of people," Matthew smiled innocently as if totally unaware of the effect of his words.

"Well," Robert said at length, "I'm quite certain you know best."

Mary rolled her eyes, but rising said only, "Papa now that you are here I will excuse myself. I would not want to disrupt my husband's business longer than necessary."

"You do not have to leave." Matthew said wanting to cling to the comfort he found in her presence, in their playfulness.

Mary smiled at her husband gratitude evident in her words, "Thank you."

Robert swung his head toward Matthew, "Surely."

Matthew smiled a determined smile saying, "Mary and I have a peculiar sort of marriage, but it suits us. I would not want any secrets between us. Whatever you want to say to me, I want Mary to hear as well."

Mary walked over to Matthew and leaned down to kiss his cheek. "Now that you have said that I can leave." Her tone was knowing and slightly barbed, and as she walked toward the door she could not help throwing a triumphant glance at her father.

.~.~.~.~.

As the door closed Robert sighed saying regretfully or perhaps disinterestedly, "I seem to have displeased my daughter again." Robert glanced over at Matthew expecting a shared wary smile or agreeable chuckle. Matthew's face was however impassive. Robert looked at him for a moment saying, "I do apologize. I forget sometimes that she is your wife."

"It's quite alright." Matthew's tone was to formal to be taken as truthful.

Robert flashed the briefest of smiles before shifting into the most serious of expressions intoning, "I hope too that you will forgive me for any lack of delicacy. I do not wish to bring any discomfort or unease to you, however I did come to discuss a few matters."

Matthew nodded stating, "I suspected as much."

"Between our dear Patrick's return, and your sudden marriage we have not yet had a moment to discuss the future."

"The future?" Working with Barristers had skilled Matthew in using a statement to pose a question.

Robert nodded saying, "Yours and Mary's, mine, Patrick's."

"I don't think much about the future." Matthew said flatly. "I see the way forward as best I can…day by day, sometimes hour by hour. That's about all the future I can manage."

"I know this has been a difficult time for you."

Matthew repressed a snort saying only. "That is putting it mildly."

An awkward pause ensued and Robert edited and reedited precisely what to say. "It's only," He finally managed, "We all care for you so much, and we do not want you or Mary to feel Downton is not your home."

"Downton is no longer my home." Matthew's words were matter of fact, his tone brokering no room for argument.

Robert took a moment, marshaling his thoughts, deciding how best to respond. Finally, he spoke saying, "I am very sorry you feel that way. As my son-in-law Downton is obviously your home. Not to mention my great fondness for you…" Robert's words were far more emotional than his typical style. "God knows I certainly wish things were different."

"You may wish it differently but things are as they are." Matthew stated coldly. "The fact remains Patrick is back. The prodigal heir has returned. Now the spare must retreat back to his middle class existence."

"Dramatic," Robert said obscurely, "I thought you were the normal Crawley."

"To be frank I am glad he's back." Matthew admitted causing Robert to look up in surprise. "Whatever you may wish or pretend. It could never be as it was…I would be the crippled let down. Incapable of carrying the title past my lifespan, incapable of properly managing the estate… As it stands….You have a healthy heir who can sire future heirs, who can walk the estate, who for that matter is far better trained to manage the estate." Matthew said thoughtfully as if he had given the matter deep thought, which he had. "I have no cause for complaint or wish to alter things."

Robert looked down at his cigar. "I have a great many causes of complaint and a constant wish to alter things." As if wanting to edit his statement Robert said, "Mind you Patrick is a good man. And God knows I am terribly grateful to have him alive and with us." Rising to his feet Robert walked to the window staring out as he said, "But…I cannot pretend that this new world is suited to my and Patrick's sort." He frowned in concentration as if wanting to arrange his words properly. "Downton has been my life's work. I thought the heir would have the same challenge. The war has altered everything." He sighed venting a frustration he had tried his best to disguise for nearly half a decade. "I suppose to your mind I had an easy life. My hours were certainly my own. I raised Patrick to expect the same kind of life. It is not to be." There was finality to his tone, that added gravity to his words.

"Well," Matthew said hopefully, "I'm sure Patrick can adapt. He's lived by his wits for some time."

"Patrick Gordon lived by his wits." Robert answered turning from the window. "Patrick Crawley's great preoccupation at the moment is selecting which boots best match his riding suit for his post wedding hunt. It's quite beyond me." He admitted shoving his hands into his pockets. "He survived that icy water, survived the war. And he comes back talking of hunts and the season." Robert's gaze was steely, "The world is changing, and he is changing back into the boy of 1912."

Matthew considered Robert's words before saying, "I thought you wanted that time back."

"Of course I do," Robert agreed crossly, "But I am of an age where I can hope to live out my days in some semblance of the life I preferred. You and Patrick's generation will not have that luxury." His voice was stern, professorial almost as he added, "Downton cannot afford a feckless earl."

Matthew studied Robert for a moment, before replying, "I am afraid I cannot be of much assistance."

"You could be of a great deal of assistance." Robert said urging, "Come home, bring Mary home."

Matthew weighed the idea before rejecting it with, "My home is here for the present. Mary can of course visit or go home to Downton whenever she likes."

"Her home is with you now." Robert said matter of factly, as if observing the weather or commenting on Mrs. Padmore's lamb. "I doubt that she will even attend her sister's wedding unless you join her."

.~.~.~.~.'

"It was so thoughtful of you to come and see me." Lavinia called bringing a pot of tea into the morning room. The tray had come in moments earlier, but the tea pot itself was missing. Lavinia had apologetically rushed off to get the pot herself, returning full of apologies for her mistake. She had struggled with a kind of bafflement at the smooth running of Downton, her own household was a messier affair.

"Don't be ridiculous." Edith said brushing the mere idea aside. "How could I not?"

"I am certain it's awkward for you, given the situation."

Edith smiled reassuringly, "Not at all."

"Does Matthew or Mary know that you have come to visit?"

Edith recognized her question was posed as something of a challenge. Confronting it Edith answered only, "I am sure if they did, neither would object."

Her answer tepid though it was seemed to satisfy Lavinia. "I have heard last night's dinner was quiet an affair."

"It was a perfect fiasco;" Edith agreed frankly, "Which given Mary was involved was wholly predictable." Edith smiled; she always enjoyed her barbs, especially when Mary wasn't around to barb back.

"I gathered it was your aunt's ideas of modern parties that was at fault. Not Mary or Matthew."

Edith took a sip of her tea sniff disappointedly, "I suppose."

"How are they?" Lavinia questioned in the most cautious of tones. "Matthew and Mary, I mean." She said fearing herself obtuse.

Edith considered the question responding at length, "They seem quite content. How he puts up with her is beyond me, but I think they are happy, probably happier than they realize."

"That's an odd way of putting it."

Edith frowned asking, "Is it?" She considered her statement saying, "I often think newly married couples are far too happy. They giggle and coo and praise one another. And then six months in, they can barely stomach the sight of one another." She took a sip of tea continuing, "Matthew and Mary do know one another. They seem to share private jokes and the same odd humor. Whatever I may think of Mary, I do believe she and Matthew are a good pair. I think six months, six years from now they will remain very happy."

Lavinia frowned but then forced her lips upward into a smile. "I was of course very angry at the time, I still am terribly pained." She paused and then continued determinedly. "I would not wish them unhappiness."

"Of course you wouldn't." Edith agreed expectantly.

Lavinia smiled a forced bright expression that barely ghosted her lips. "I have heard your good news. You must be so happy."

"I am." Edith's smile was shy, bashful almost. "Happier than I ever expected."

Reaching across the table Lavinia patted her friend's hand. "Patrick is a very lucky man."

Edith looked downward softly demurring, "It is me who is lucky."

"Perhaps we can agree that you are both lucky."

Edith smiled saying, "Perhaps." After a moment she added, "Which is why I came today. I came to invite you to my wedding."

.~.~.~.~.'

"Of course we will both attend." Matthew said distractedly, trying to piece his way through the fragments Robert was saying. "We are both looking forward to it."

Robert regarded Matthew incredulously saying, "I hardly think Mary is excitedly anticipating seeing Edith on any level. And she's always found Patrick a trifling bore."

Matthew considered that for a moment before stating, "She's looking forward to Mrs. Padmore's cooking."

Robert offered the smallest of smiles. "Perhaps."

"Edith seems really happy." Matthew said gamefully, "Very excited." He was to much Isobel's son to ever be much good at small talk.

Robert nodded before adding thoughtfully, "I hope it is not for naught." Seeing Matthew's expression Robert explained, "Edith has always been deeply fond of Patrick."

"I gathered that."

"I am not altogether certain that Patrick's feelings are equal to Edith's." Robert admitted uneasily.

Matthew opted for an optimistic jovial tone saying, "Well get married first, fall in love later."

"It certainly worked for Cora and myself. Still," He said an uneasy note in his voice, "I am not entirely certain they have the makings of a solid marriage. I wish it was simpler, like you and Mary."

"Mary and I are simpler." Matthew repeated sounding utterly bemused by the notion. "I cannot fathom on what planet that could be true."

"My boy," Robert said affectionately. "Whatever the condition of your legs or the risks of Mary's scandal, we all know the depth and fondness of your hearts. We all knew Mary would take you…on any terms."

_And what if she should just want to be with you on any terms._

"I think, she worries about me." Matthew answered off handedly, searching for any reason.

"No she adores you, we all see it, everyone knew it well at least mother and I and Sybil knew, and Cora knew she'd take you on any terms."

_And what if she should just want to be with you on any terms._

Matthew nodded even as the implications of Robert's words stunned him. Mary take him on any terms. No, Mary …she had meant Lavinia. Not herself, not her love, she had meant Lavinia. As Robert babbled on, Matthew kept thinking not Mary, Lavinia, not Mary….

_And what if she should just want to be with you on any terms._

.~.~.~.~.'

Reginald Swire entered the house and by instinct dropped his umbrella by the hat stand, removing his hat and placing it on his usual peg. The Swires had lived in this residence for the better part of a quarter of a century, and his routines were as fixed as the chiming of Big Ben. Every day he arrived at home at 5:20, by 5:25 he was entering the drawing room in preparation for the one Scotch he allowed himself. Glancing about he saw Lavinia already seated a novel open on her knees, but a vacant expression on her face suggesting the text was far from her mind. "Good evening my dear," He said fixing her with a curious smile. "A fathering for your thoughts."

In spite of her mood, Lavinia gave her father a fond smile. "I do not think they are worth quiet that much."

"Allow me to be the judge." He suggested warmly.

"Edith Crawley came to visit me this afternoon."

Forgoing his drink Reginald took a seat, "I see."

"She's engaged to the new heir." Reginald nodded but kept silent. "She wants me to come to their wedding."

"Do you want to go?" He asked curiously. "I know you've always liked Edith."

Edith closed her novel without marking the page, tossing it aside. "I do like Edith, and Sybil and Mary too for that matter."

"Is it Matthew keeping you from attending?" Again Reginald's tone remained cool, reserved and utterly impossible to read.

Lavinia thought the comment worthy of thought, and so took her time answering it. "Not alone, but yes he does complicate the answer."

"I am glad you are considering that." Reginald said reaching for his pipe.

"Papa," Lavinia said in a reproaching tone. "Surely you do not think I would behave improperly."

Reginald contemplated the question answering, "When the heart is involved, logic can become most fleeting."

"You do not think Matthew and I can become simply friends."

"I do not think it will be simple."

Lavinia shrugged, "What better way to put the past behind me than to see him with his wife." Reginald nodded and reached for his paper relatively certain his daughter would attend the wedding, and even more certain she would regret doing so. And not for the first time he wished his dear Catherine was here to steer their daughter. Alas, he would have to do his best, mitigate the fallout of the agony sure to come.

.~.~.~.~.

"Where is your sister?" Cora asked Sybil as they descended the stairs moving toward the morning room.

"She returned a quarter of an hour ago."

Cora sighed sharply, her irritation telegraphed by the mere sound. "Returned from where?"

Sybil tried for a blasé, modern tone saying, "Oh Lavinia's, I believe." She really should have paid more attention to Mary and Edith's battles, she decided fretfully. She really had no clue how to act blasé.

Cora turned quickly, "Swire?"

"Well we hardly know another Lavinia." Sybil said pointedly, thinking that sounded like just the thing Mary would say to a question she found rather obvious.

Cora took a measured breath before demanding, "What in heaven's name did she visit her for…"

"I don't know really." She really should have paid more attention to Mary and Edith. She really wasn't a very good liar.

Cora's facial expression cemented her view for she turned her entire body saying seriously, "Sybil why did she visit Lavinia?"

"To invite her to attend her wedding." Sybil spat the words out as quickly as possible. "That's about the sum of it." She added as a kind of summation. She really, really needed to listen to Mary more pick up some pointers on how to have these type of conversations.

"I see." Cora said as they stepped off the final step. She glided toward the morning room. Even before stepping fully inside Cora said, "Mary were you aware that Edith visited Lavinia this afternoon?"

Mary seemed startled as if stirred from a pleasant dream and her smile vanished. Still she quickly recomposed her face, not unlike drawing a mask over her feelings. "I did not know. Still," Mary said with an almost indifferent air, "She may invite whomever she pleases."

"Well thank you so very much for that." Edith snapped entering the room just behind Cora.

Cora turned facing her middle daughter, her expression a study in displeasure. "I do think you should have consulted us before you invited Lavinia."

"Whatever for." Edith asked seeming genuinely perturbed by the question. "Lavinia is my friend."

"And the jilted fiancée of your sister's husband," Cora added.

"How nice of you to remind me Mama." Edith said sounding irritated by the reminder.

.~.~.~.~.

Hearing Edward's footsteps Mary turned, from her mother and sister, walking expectantly out of the room and down the hall. "Darling." She called, "Well two darlings." She said smiling at her husband and her father in turn. Almost instantly recognizing an odd expression on Matthew's face, "What's wrong?"

He studied her and opened his mouth as if about to speak. Then shaking his head he said only, "My head pains me terribly."

"Another of your headaches." Mary cried worriedly. In the hospital and at Downton Matthew had been plagued by terrible head pains. Since their marriage he had not had a single headache and she had thought, half hoped really that the pains were gone, that he was content, happy even. "You must go straight to bed." She announced expecting him to protest.

Matthew nodded, "Yes perhaps that is for the best."

She had expected him to fight. Matthew always railed against being treated as an invalid. Still she nodded, suggesting, "Papa why don't we step into the drawing room just for a moment."

.~.~.~.~.

When the door was closed Matthew nodded to Edwards, who lifted him from the chair and with the help of Bates began carrying him upstairs. As always at such moments Matthew closed his eyes and drifted into his own thoughts as a way of ignoring grown men were forced to lug him around like an overgrown infant. The searing pain in his temple made this easier, for Matthew had not been lying. His head was truly pounding, and he had felt half dizzy all afternoon. And he lacked any kind of energy, as if his body was as weakened as his legs.

Edwards must have sensed his mood saying matter of factly when they arrived in the dressing room and Matthew was seated on the bed, "I'll just help you undress…. Easier with your head pain." Matthew made no protest as Edwards assisted him with even the minor tasks he generally preferred to perform himself. His behavior must have troubled Edwards, for the man gently inquired, "Shall I send the boy down to the chemists for a mixture?"

Matthew shook his head muttering, "No some sleep is all… Some sleep."

The butler accepted his words, or seemed to and soon enough left Matthew alone with his thoughts. So here he lay in his pajamas, a new pair Mary brought home after an afternoon's shopping the week before,… trying take in Robert's words but mostly just attempting to convince himself Robert was mistaken.

_And what if she should just want to be with you on any terms._

The whole of the past hour those words had haunted him. Robert had talked of his fears and his hopes…and all he could hear was Mary.

_And what if she should just want to be with you on any terms._

She must not have been speaking of him. She must have been referring to Lavinia. Lavinia had been willing… Mary had nursed him, sat by him, cleaned his sickbed. No Lavinia would have wanted to be with him on any terms. Not Mary, Lavinia.

_And what if she should just want to be with you on any terms._

Surely Robert was wrong. No he must be wrong… For if he was right then Mary would never leave him, never have a real husband, never have a child. If Robert was right she would love him and never leave him and belong only to him, be his real wife … No he refused to even consider that line of thought. He'd spent years nursing that fantasy. Years when he could have been a real husband, fathered children. Mary certainly hadn't wanted him then. No Mary had been referring to Lavinia. She had to have meant Lavinia.

_And what if she should just want to be with you on any terms._

He heard the soft tapping of her fingers on his door. "Matthew?" She called, his wife called. Matthew closed his eyes, feigning deep slumber. After a moment the door closed and he sighed in relief. No Mary had meant Lavinia. He knew that for certain. Mary had meant Lavinia.

_And what if she should just want to be with you on any terms._

Her voice haunted him, followed him into dreams.

I would love to know what you thought about this chapter. Reviews make my day!


	9. Chapter 9

Apologies for the delay for this chapter. I will say this is an angsty, somewhat dark chapter …. I wanted to put Matthew and Mary in totally different spheres to make some realizations. Then Patrick started talking about two very dark days. Please do feel free to let me know what you think.

.~.~.~.~.

"Listen to me honey dear, somethings wrong with you I fear." The singer crooned, "It's getting harder to please you every year. I don't want to make you blue but you need a talking to… Here's what is wrong with you. After you get what you want you don't want it. If I gave you the moon, you'd grow tired of it soon. You're like a baby, you want what you want when you want it. But after you are presented with what you want, you're discontented. You're always wishing and wanting for something. When you get what you want, you don't want what you get…." The singer finished the chorus by flashing a toothy rakish grin.

Matthew turned to Sybil asking in a low tone, "Don't you think it's in poor taste to drag a cripple to the Hippodrome to hear two men singing about a girl sitting on their knees?"

Sybil smiled bemusedly replying, "I hardly dragged you. Besides," She added with a tipsy chuckle, "You best wait until I tell Granny you forced me to accompany you to a night club and then plied me with liquor."

"Wrong cousin." He replied lifting his glass, "That's the one who went to fetch you yet another cocktail." As if just realizing the fact, Matthew asked, "Do you usually travel with pairs of war wounded men?"

"Always." She replied cheekily. "Why do you think I entered war service?"

"Clever notion." Matthew commented shrewdly, as if deducing some legal fact. "Let everyone think you were just a girl doing her bit for king and country and all the while."

"Collecting gentleman like petals from a daisy." She answered with an overly pleased smile, Matthew wondered if the cocktail wasn't going to her head a bit. Perhaps not thought for as the tune ended and the room filled with applause she turned to him inquiring, "Do I get to ask?" Sybil said without referencing her exact question.

He had been dreading this moment for days. He had worked extra hours and pled fatigue to avoid this question. Realizing that pursuit was quite finished he said professionally and utterly impersonally. "I am quite certain your sister told you. Nothing is the matter."

"Yes she did tell me that." Sybil answered adding dismissively, "Mary is an absolutely terrible liar." She sighed if such were the ways of the world. "Did you two have an argument? No," She said answering her own question. "That would require the pair of you talking."

"We are talking."

He answered firmly, a bit to firmly Sybil decided. Narrowing her eyes she demanded, "More than ten words aside from did you have a nice day, or would you pass the salt."

"We are married." Matthew reminded her half-seriously. "Conversation is for courtship."

"Mary could have pulled that line off." Sybil decided, adding, "Glibness does not suit you."

Rolling her eyes she opted for another tactic, "What did papa say?" Sybil demanded adding, "Or was it Mama?" As if deciding the matter herself Sybil said, "Mama. She can be so tactless."

Matthew considered her words for a moment before answering in a clipped tone, "It was neither. It was….Something I realized." He angled his head returning his attention to the stage, leaving Sybil uncertain as to his precise meaning.

.~.~.~.~.

The smell of cheap cigarettes, the sound of voices raised just a little too loud and the rat a tat tat beat of the music felt like an anesthetic to Patrick. Or at least a sort of one,easing a pain that never really went away… Ever since he'd woken up in that hospital, his face afire as if every nerve lay aflame with tiny scalding cinders, Patrick sought escape. After a time when the pain had dulled into a kind of constant fever, he'd found the need eased into a different thing. He would, he realized, never really feel well again. The constant burn of his face, the horrific images that would forever flood his mind…it was never going to go away. He was never going to get back to Ontario in 1914, much less Downton in 1911. No one was getting back there. He supposed it was comforting that it was no longer just a small club of survivors. The war had provided him so many comrades. All the silly welcome home dinners, and the we honor our heroes mantras were a kind of bosh, people said when they really meant, "We cannot deal with this new world so let us pretend Victoria is back on the throne and all is well and the sun will never set on our empire."

Patrick had never considered himself a very philosophical sort. He could barely remember any of the books he must have read. The past was still a sketchy, opaque world one of shadows rather than certainty. Still he felt that he saw this post war world clearly… It was a land of escape and denial, a world where people danced more than they wanted, laughed harder than they felt, a world of play acting and pretense. He was not much good at playing acting and his injury had stripped all the pretense he'd ever had. He supposed his injury was a sort of prop; a man with no face did not have to even feign emotions. That was fortunate he supposed. For since that morning in that bright hospital room he'd felt nothing but pain-physical, mental, emotional just days of pain and more pain. And it just wasn't ever going to change.

Shaking his head as if dispelling the troublesome thoughts, he lifted the two drinks the bartender proffered and zigzagged his way back to the bar. He was grateful for the half light of the club, it meant fewer stares. Still he kept his eyes cast downward not wanting to meet the uncomfortable gazes he always received. And he was glad soon enough to find Matthew and Sybil sequestered in a corner table.

"Have I missed any stimulating conversation?" Patrick asked setting Sybil's drink down before her.

"You missed a delicious discussion of the difference between the endoplasmic reticulum and the Golgi apparatus." Matthew answered speaking over the song wafting across the room, referring to a conversation that had ended a good ten minutes before. The last thing he needed was Edith or Cora getting even the slightest scent of his issues.

Patrick smiled over his glass, "You do realize that sounds like perfect nonsense."

Sybil sniffed irritably, "I would expect two individuals with physical injuries to take a greater interest in the working of the body."

"Now she is talking perfect nonsense." Matthew declared taking a sip of his scotch, hoping this might distract her from their earlier discussion.

.~.~.~.~.

The Duke of Crowborough had wed the summer before in New York, an idea Mary found so very vulgar. What respectable Englishman would wed in a foreign country? Not that the Duke's reputation was particularly stellar of late. A vague undisclosed medical condition had led him to sit out the war. It had however not stopped him from traveling freely, golfing daily, and in general remaining a gadabout town. And the instant the war was over; he had crossed the ocean with his bride. The Duke and his wife had hosted the weekend as some kind of charity event raising money for veteran relief. Rosamond had donated an exorbitant sum of money, and had asked Mary to tag along for company confiding in the car, "You know I am only going because I'm so very terribly curious about the girl. American brides are generally to be counted on for being entertaining if so seldom acceptable"

Mary had not been curious, not in the slightest. However, over the past day her curiosity had grown by leaps and bounds. Sophie was certainly pretty, intellectually she was about as bright as an unlit candle, but men generally did not go for that anyway. She had the right sort of manners and even if she seemed a trace to eager, and a tad excitable those were qualities time would certainly moderate. She decided she rather liked the girl.

"I am sorry your husband could not join us." Sophie said kindly. They were standing together during the pre-meal cocktail period. Mary smiled but made no comment. "I read an article about him in the newspaper, he sounded quite heroic."

Mary considered the crabby, distant man of the past week, trying to reconcile it with the image this girl clearly had created of Captain Matthew Crawley. She could only manage to respond, "He might disagree with that notion," Mary said, yet surprised herself adding, "But I believe he was rather heroic." Apparently, she realized, Matthew's sullen mood and diffidence had not altered her pathetic school girl adoration of him. She was not sure if this pleased her or not, but of course this was not the best time to try and work that out. "Do you care for England, though I'm sure you miss your family in America?"

Sophie considered this question saying, "I have always dreamed of living in Europe."

Mary thought this a half-answer, but felt it best not to pursue it instead saying, "How happy having that dream come true." It seemed like the kind of thing one was expected to say, though it did sound like perfect nonsense.

"Yes happy." Sophie agreed echoing rather than answering.

Rosamond entered wearing a boa and smiling grandly. "Hello my lovelies. What a lovely evening." She laughed at her own comment, a loud gurgling sound. No one had ever accused Rosamond of not enjoying herself. "Oh my I sound as if I had several of your lovely cocktails."

Sophie smiled demurely saying, "Oh I'm sure no one would think that."

"If they had met me they certainly would." Rosamond agreed chuckling a bit too lightly.

Sophie smiled but said only, "If you will excuse me I must find my husband." Mary smiled and watched her cross to the Duke.

"She is young." Rosamond observed with shrewdness utterly void of the frivolityof mere moments before. "I understand her father made his fortune in oil."

Mary smiled slightly, "If Granny heard you speaking so openly of money, she would near die with shock."

"Mama is such a romantic about these things." Rosamond said dismissively. "In these times one must be practical about things. Families of our kind must adapt or fall away."

"Adapt?" Mary queried lifting her glass to her lips.

"Mama and Robert can sit about sniffing at occupations and money." She said idly running her fingers over the contours of the crystal glass. "But the days of Robert's kind of life are coming to a close."

Mary considered this for a moment before replying, "So Sophie is the solution. Piles of money and the Duke can maintain his lifestyle."

Rosamond watched Sophie standing by while her husband laughed with a group of friends, seemingly almost unaware of her actual presence. "Sophie is a cork. She pushes the problem slightly further down the road. She stops the immediate flow. A decade or so the problem will recur…." Mary said nothing, turning to watch the Duke… his wife on his arm but clearly not his focus. "Did you ever fancy the Duke?" Rosamond questioned frankly.

"I thought I did. Mostly I just fancied his title and the idea of him." Mary said with an unusual amount of frankness.

"I hope Matthew has nothing to be concerned over." Rosamond inquired more seriously than Mary expected. "I know you two must have quarreled." Seeing Mary's inquisitive expression she said only, "Newlyweds generally have to be pried apart."

Mary repressed the urge to snort in utter derision. "Matthew and I are hardly a typical newly married couple."

"There is no such thing." Rosamond stated with a surprising firmness. "Every marriage is a country unto itself. When I think of my dear departed Marmaduke." She sighed sounding a trace wistful.

"We did not quarrel." Mary reiterated coolly. "He's barely speaking to me."

"Are you certain he is angry? Matthew does seem a very quiet fellow." Rosamond said adding, "Perhaps he simply did not feel like talking. It is the season of sore throats."

"I cannot discuss this here." Mary said lowering ever voice.

"You should be discussing it with your husband." Rosamond pronounced with seriousness that was in no way typical to her nature. Seeing Mary's surprised expression she said, "Come Mary I am not Cora. I know you wanted to marry Matthew, I know you love him. Your mother's brand of coquetry and obtuseness will not work with the husband you chose." She paused glancing around to ensure no one was close by. "My brother likes that routine, he embraces the façade. Your husband is of a different sort."

"You barely know Matthew." Mary said continuing to whisper.

"Perhaps more than you imagine." Rosamond replied with an enigmatic smile. A slightly nervous chuckle caused Mary and Rosamond to glance around the room.

Sophie was laughing a trace too brightly at some mundane comment the Duke had made. Rosamond watched them for several long minutes keeping her own counsel before saying half-regretfully, "Marriage is so seldom what one thinks." She observed studying Sophie as she stood by her husband looking adoringly at a man who barely seemed cognizant of her presence, "One does not know where to weep for the bride in happiness or despair."

.~.~.~.~.

Watching the band play Patrick called wanting his voice heard over the music and the noise, "You know I quite fancy this new music."

Matthew scowled saying professorially, "This is hardly new." He said taking a sip of his whisky. "It was published around 1900. Even at university people were mad for it. Fellow called Joplin wrote it."

"Aha," Patrick said evenly. "I must confess my ignorance to popular music.

Sybil played with the olive in her drink. "I am stunned you have forgotten Edith's battle to learn this song. She spent an entire summer working on it." She sighed at the memory, "I had a fever and I would go to sleep to hearing her and the song, and woke hours later to the same song. I have never cared for rags since."

"Has he written others?" It was an indifferent question, much as one might inquire about the weather or a friend's holiday plans.

"Many." Matthew said distantly adding uncomfortably, "Well he did. He's dead." Matthew said studying the band with renewed interest.

Patrick muttered an obscenity, throwing an apologetic glance at Sybil he said, "The war?"

Matthew cast his own look at Sybil saying, "A gentleman's condition."

"He had syphilis?" Sybil inquired interestedly. Anything medical now absorbed her. Mary had already suggested that when Sybil actually began practicing medicine, they were going to have to take a long vacation to let her enthusiasm tamper down a bit.

Patrick shrugged reaching for his glass. "Hardly surprising given the company a man of his sort would keep."

Sybil groaned observing peevishly, "Given the antics of the past four years, I'd doubt his company was considerably different from most of the military men who marched home to play devoted husbands."

Patrick grinned asking, "Does Cousin Violet know you speak of such things."

"Granny did not seem a bit surprised by any of my training in diseases of this sort." Sybil said utterly matter of factly.

In spite of his efforts, Matthew could not really engage in Sybil and Patrick's bickering. He had fancied himself in the worst of moods after Robert left. He had felt a kind of anger at the idea Mary might even love him, disgust really. Perhaps he might have handled it better, or for that matter even bothered to hide his anger. He had been sullen, refused to discuss any of his moods with her. The more she asked, and the simple fact Mary that wanted to discuss emotions was clue enough of her concern with his state, the more withdrawn he had become.

When she had told him she was spending the weekend with her aunt he had felt a rush of pure relief. He had trusted that her absence would provide him solace from the constant knowledge of her possible feelings. It would be a lovely reprieve from the constant worry that she might indeed love him.

It had taken a single day to disabuse him of that notion. He had spent the war years barely seeing Mary Crawley. He had asked another girl to be his wife and planned a life without Mary. Now just over a month into their marriage, her absence of a mere two days left him ill at ease. Several times already he had turned expectantly in her direction, awaiting her enigmatic smile or subtle reaction to one of Patrick or Sybil's comments. The previous night he caught himself listening expectantly for the soft sounds of her nightly rituals. He missed especially the gentle, "Good night" she always offered and that he realized with some pain he rarely reciprocated. However difficult having Mary around could be, he realized her absence was far, far worse.

.~.~.~.~.

Studying the Duke of Crowborough with renewed interest, Mary felt every thought of her husband flee her thoughts. Not because her affection for Matthew had changed. No it was simply that the drama playing out before her was so absorbing and atypical that she believed it merited every ounce of her attention. If she had started the weekend, and really before Matthew such a term had never even entered her mind, with too little interest, now she had the very opposite problem. The Crowborough marriage was akin to the makings of a very fascinating stage production. It was not a new story certainly… Britain was filled coast to coast with unhappy marriages… Still this specific marriage seemed incredibly sad.

The Duke remained sequestered as ever amidst a trio of men. Forever a man's man Mary could not remember a single time the Duke had not been in the company of a trio or quad of beautiful pals. Still, she was a bit surprised to see the very young Duchess, why she could not be more than 17, sitting alone on a piano bench looking so very sad. Sybil or her mother was apparently rubbing off on her for Mary found herself wandering over to the girl saying more enthusiastically than she truly felt. "It is a lovely room."

Sophie looked up, smiling in surprise, "Do you think so?"

"I do." Mary answered rather touched by the girl's genuine flush of pleasure.

"I only partially supervised…. Mother helped and my husband's sisters. I did like the color though."

Mary smiled praising a color she had really only barely noticed. "It just suits the room. The mauve was overdone."

The girl looked down softly saying, "Yes mama thought so as well."

Mary surmised that the girl had preferred the mauve but her views had been irrelevant to the decisions. Mary did not care for having her opinions compared to an American but she supposed it would be rude to say so. Besides she had noticed that Duchess Sophie, and really the girl seemed far to young for such a heavy title, glancing over at her husband and then quickly back as if fearful she might be found out. She really was so very young and inexperienced, causing Mary to say kindly, "Are you making friends with the set?"

Sophie looked a little crestfallen, her lip drooping just a bit. "I am trying."

"I am certain you are," Mary decided that she really was becoming her mother, saying idiotic, pointless things.

Nodding like a chastised child Sophie said, "It is a bit harder than one expects."

Thinking of Matthew's terrible moods of late Mary smiled sympathetically, "For all of us."

"The novels make it seem very simple." Sophie said wistfully. Her mood altered when she saw the Duke strolling toward her. He offered both ladies the warmest of smiles saying, "Lady Mary I do hope you are enjoying yourself."

Mary's smile was enigmatic, but her tone seemed pleasant enough as she answered, "I am thank you."

His hand fluttered to his temple as he confessed, "I must excuse myself. I have a terrible head pain." Mary scanned his eyes for the redness she often detected in her husband's face at such times, or the furrowed brow Matthew displayed when he had his migraines. She saw neither nor did she observe any obvious fatigue. "I must find a dark room and try and rest."

Sensing her presence was unnecessary Mary offered a polite smile and said, "You will excuse me." She took a few steps away giving, the couple a bit of privacy. Mary could hear only random parts of the conversation that followed. The Duke pleading exhausting fatigue mentioned his dressing room. And seeing his wife about to complain he insisted on "No disturbances and total rest."

Sophie sighed a trifle disappointedly, "Of course my dear I know you need your rest. I won't disturb you," Her voice already tinny seemed to weaken even further. And her goodnight smile to her husband seemed a very pitiful one.

As he passed her, the Duke nodded saying, "Lady Mary." Mary nodded, but remained silent.

Rosamond drifted over to her niece, both watching the Duke vanish up the stairs. "Marriage is never quite as one imagines."

Mary thought that the Duke's kind of marriage was exactly what she had imagined. Exactly the type of marriage Sir Richard Carlisle had promised. "You asked if I was fond of him." Rosamond nodded as Mary added, "I am fortunate he was not fond of me."

.~.~.~.~.

Their discussion on the sexual mores of returning soldiers having petered out, Sybil and Patrick had taken to listening to the music in companionable silence. Bits of conversation were parsed out and followed by comfortable intervals of silence. As the tune changed Matthew's features twisted into a puzzled expression and he said, "I do recognize this tune. But I cannot place the tune."

"Really," Sybil answered oddly distracted by the way Patrick was slowly clenching and unclenching his right fingers, curling his fingers into a fist, then unfolding them only to repeat the gesture.

"Shine on Harvest Moon." Patrick announced stiffly, reaching across the table for his glass. As he lifted the glass his hands shook causing the liquid to rock back and forth.

Sybil stilled the impulse to diagnose the symptom, merely questioning, "Are you alright?"

"I haven't heard this in a very long time."

"It is an old song." Matthew agreed blandly, having missed the gestures and tone of Patrick's words.

"It is not that." Patrick stated his tone even more restricted, as if a band had closed over his throat.

Fretful about his tone and uneasy with his suddenly sober tone, Sybil inquired brightly, "Are you looking forward to your wedding?"

A long silent moment ensued before Patrick replied, "They played it on the ship. I do not believe it was the final night, certainly not on the deck…still each time I hear it I'm sitting in the green chairs, tasting the roast duck. My father ate lamb, but I had the duck. Funny," He said off handedly, "Funny, how something can stick in your memory. Not funny I suppose but still…"

"You mean before…" Sybil said uneasily. "On the ship," A dawning realization crossed her face and her bright tone and smile vanished as she whispered, "Oh."

"The ship." He repeated more firmly. "You know they never mention the ship at home. Edith and Robert must be in some kind of collusion that it is never intimated in my presence."

"They don't want you to be upset." Sybil defended placidly, once again the secure, purposeful nurse. Matthew was half surprised she did not instantly alter into a nursing uniform, the slightly tipsy young woman of moments before replaced by the very epitome of the nursing profession.

"They don't want me to think about that night or any of it." He stated bluntly. "The same reason Cora had the big mirrors in the house removed. Patrick Crawley must not think of that awful watery night, Patrick must not see the bandages and wreck of skin that remains. It is as if they believe omitting a name, redecorating can allow me to never be reminded of that night." He reached for his glass and took a sip. He held the glass aloft continuing, "As if I could ever forget. I cannot even forget the menu, the music…if I can hang on to those incidentals how could I ever forget…" He paused searching for the term… "The rest." He took a sip of his drink seeming unaware of the oppressive silence of the others.

Sybil toyed with the fabric of her sleeves for a moment before saying perhaps a trace defensively, "You never seemed to want to talk about it."

Patrick shrugged as if the matter was irrelevant to him, "There does not seem a great deal to talk about."

"It must have been so horrible." Sybil said for she had no idea really what to say and felt quite at a loss. All her political beliefs and social theories had fallen away, and she was left with the intangible fact that human suffering could never be fixed. The realization had come painfully during the war and she still found herself adjusting to the ramifications.

Patrick laughed a hard sound that seemed borne as much of anger as amusement. "Passchendaele.." It seemed a sentence, a profanity. "Between the two I cannot imagine which I would most prefer to forget. Freezing or fire I suppose." He paused and resumed speaking as if talking only to himself. "I have never quite made out which was worse the screaming of the dying, or the utter silence of the dead." He shook his head saying, "I suppose neither really…"

Matthew had no idea if he was discussing the sinking or the battle and decided either or both would probably function as an answer. "Still you survived." The idiotic Clarkston had said that to all the cripples in the ward. He had been forced to ask for a sick pan moments later. Surviving as Matthew now well knew was a physical reaction. Still one clung to the old phrases and beliefs. War is noble; it is good to just survive. Survival was supposed to mean something. He still needed to believe that to face the day.

"Did we really?" Patrick asked glancing from one to the other. Without waiting for an answer he continued as if speaking mostly to himself, "You know you get through something like that and you fancy, you really fancy nothing can ever touch you again." Patrick reached for his glass but took no drink instead rambling, "You don't know that it already has. That having been there, you can never make your way back to the place you were before." He looked up as if expecting Sybil or Matthew to object, but they clung to their silence. After taking a long sip of his drink Patrick said, "What did you ask me again?"

"I said are you looking forward to your marriage." Sybil responded quietly refusing to meet his eyes, half expecting to see frozen corpses in the water, or Canadian soldiers screaming on the battlefield reflected in his sockets.

"I suppose so." He answered sounding suddenly more Canadian than British and so unconvincing Sybil felt a tremor traverse her body that all the cheerful rags in the world could not lift.


	10. Chapter 10

This chapter is a bit darker than I had intended. It is odd how something I intended to be a quick transition chapter ended up being really entirely different. It ended up being a really transformational chapter. I am incredibly curious what people make of this chapter. Please do review and let me know what you think. As always thanks for reading it does mean the world to me.

**.~.~.~.~.**

Bullets whirled around him like some kind of profane confetti, ignoring the ache in his thighs he crouched and ran he just kept running. As he ran the machine gun belched out bullets to a rat a tat beat he could remember dancing to in Toronto. Artillery shells burst illuminating the night sky, turning darkness, to noon and then dusk. And still he kept running and running…. The explosions caused dirt to be spit high into the air and he swore he inhaled every single bit of it. Men crumpled all around him, knees buckling, sprawled drowning face down in their own blood. He pushed his legs on harder still, ignoring the painful burn coursing through his calves and thighs, needing, having to go only a bit further. Just a bit further and he would be safe, he kept repeating that over and over in his mind. The past two and a half years were nothing but going a bit further, pushing himself forward in the hope just to survive. The field, all the fields, has become a kind of obstacle course; save the fact the obstacles were the corpses of the dead. Men he had led and liked laid all around him, some whole, mostly bits and parts of men. The severed arms and legs scattered about the scarred landscape, the ground stained red and full of holes…He pumped his legs, if he could just make it up the hill. The hill became everything. It was the only thing. He would give anything to crest the top. And then he did and even as he did he felt his entire body lit afire. Searing pain crisscrossed his body and he watched his skin melting away, and he screamed. Glancing down he a cool blue ocean, leaping into the air he dived toward it floating down to the sea like Icarus aflame. And then suddenly, suddenly he was in the ice cold water and it was no longer burning he feared but freezing. The water caused his teeth to chatter and the fire of the burn was little worse than the ache of the cold. Resurfacing drifting upward he felt something brush against him. Blindly, he slapped it aside with his palms. Rubbing the water from his eyes he saw bergs and felt the chill of the air slicing into his skin… And around him all around him everywhere, for as far as he could see there were floating corpses. Lifebelts keeping atop the water souls that had undoubtly answered the unanswerable question of what came after the end. Corpses it did not matter if he was in that water or on that field the corpses were always with him. He was doomed forever and ever to be on a ship that would sink, or a battle that would kill and main. And all at once either because of the fire, or the ice, or the damnable realization this would forever be his lot, Patrick awoke screaming, cold sweat streaming down his face. The light filtering through the curtains indicated dawn was breaking, but to him it remained the very darkest of times.

**.~.~.~.~.**

Sophie, the Dutchess, but still favoring her American given name trailed behind Mary and Rosamond following them out into the raw winter morning. The grayness of the morning seemed to mirror Sophie's mood for she looked drawn and her tone was subdued as she walked out of the house. "I do wish you did not have to go, especially so very early."

"Of course," Mary agreed adding smoothly, "But I am certain you understand that my husband's health is a constant concern."

Sophie forced a smileacquiescing, if reluctantly saying, "Of course. I do apologize it was merely pleasant to have some people about."

Rosamond smiled proffering cheerily, "Well this is a very small country and we shall surely meet again sooner rather than later."

Sophie nodded, "Of course."

"And how is your husband?" Rosamond questioned adding, "Did he find his night restful." The question was worded sweetly enough, but carried the very subtlest of twists which Mary recognized as better belonging among Cobras than polite society.

Sophie took her time about answering finally saying only that, "I am certain he did."

"I do hope so." Rosamond agreed softly, "Houseguests can be so wearying."

"Yes." Sophie said evenly. "They certainly can be such." Turning to Mary she said, "I do hope you will bring your husband the next time you visit."

Mary smiled saying only, "I know he would quite enjoy it. But he is much occupied at present."

"Yes." Rosamond seconded with a gurgling chuckle, "Perhaps if he is not too busy freeing murders." Rosamond concurred thinly, causing Mary to show the slightest sign of disapproval.

"Murders," Sophie exclaimed, a flush crossing her face and her tone one of excitement rather than dismay, "How very exciting. Now I really must meet Mr. Matthew Crawley." She smiled and waved as the car took motion.

**.~.~.~.~.**

"Well," Rosamond declared the very instant the car cleared the drive. "That was perfectly ghastly. I do not understand inviting people to your house if one cannot enact the behavior of a proper martial accord. I certainly know my dear Marmaduke and I would never have behaved so inappropriately in company."

"What about that Christmas you refused to speak to each other; and you spent the entire evening chatting up Lord Hemphill's younger brother?" Mary questioned only half interestedly. Rosamond really did possess the most selective of memory when it came to her late husband. They had had a successful enough marriage as things went, but it had hardly been the romantic dream she now projected.

"Well that was a different matter entirely." Rosamond contended clasping her hands and turning to look out the window, her tone momentarily subdued.

**.~.~.~.~.**

It was after 10 before Matthew could even crack an eye open. He had woken in the first gray of dawn to the sound of screaming. He had simply reached for the pillow and turned back over falling almost instantly into sleep. He had long ago passed the stage where a man screaming could truly disturb needed sleep. He supposed this should bother him more than it did. When he woke again it was to see blinding sunlight, and the noise on the street which seemed far, far louder than usual. That was probably due to the throbbing pain in his head, and the nausea he could just barely keep down. He had an odd sensation he ought to telephone to the London for immediate transportation to the surgery. He recognized the symptoms as not unlike the ones he had suffered during his earliest days at university. During the same time he had grown his first unfortunate moustache, and spouted poetry like an affected goose. Still, those mornings had not featured the absolute wasteland that was his head this morning. Even the church bells typically so welcome a part of his married Sunday mornings sounded jangled and tuneless. Without conscious thought, he quickly dismissed the notion of attending services. He could not fathom spending an hour in a pew this morning. Besides his head hurt much to badly to contemplate sin and eternity. He had spent too many years mulling over eternity, all the time fearing how perilously close he sat to the edge of that concept. No church was a poor idea for his current state. Better to take his time about waking, beginning the day as best he knew. Decided he reached for the bell cord and made his mind up to take the day as it came. Resting his head back against the plumpness of the pillow Matthew puffed out a breath, regretting the move almost instantly for it caused a sharp jabbing pain to travel cross his head. By the time he had recovered Edwards had entered the room intoning, "Tea and toast sir?" With the rest of the household Edwards would automatically prepare a tea and breakfast tray. Mr. Crawley's condition and frankly his most of capricious moods had schooled Edward to make no such assumptions with Mr. Matthew Crawley.

"I wonder," Matthew requested his arm slung over his eyes finding the sunlight near blinding, "I wonder if you could call down to the Chemist and see if I could get a remedy. My head is splitting."

Edwards nodded efficiently, "Of course and I wonder Sir," He paused before continuing, "I have a remedy for headaches of this sort. If you would not object I could prepare you one."

Matthew cracked a single eye lowering his arm enough to catch sight of Edwards, "Have you prepared these for Lord Grantham?"

The slightest of frowns appeared on Edward's face. "My skills in several areas have been ill used in my years of service for Lord Grantham."

"Well," Matthew said with a humorless chuckle, "At least I am providing you some new amusements."

"Yes Sir," Edwards said quietly backing out of the room.

As he descended the stairs Edward felt an unnatural smile crossing his features. He had secured a position in Lord Grantham's house some five years before, finding the monotony of the household a blessed relief. His previous employer had been a drunken, opium smoking layabout who had charged him with every task from preparing exotic cocktails to securing underage paramours to feed his seemingly unquenchable lust. The work had been as challenging as it was rewarding. Still, Edwards had believed himself well tired of that style of work, and considered himself utterly relieved by Lord Grantham's teetotaler status and near priggish morality. Yet, since Mr. and Mrs. Crawley and Lady Sybil arrived he had felt an odd energy emerging. The hours were erratic, the tasks unpredictable and families' moods pivoted on their individual moods, temperament and philosophies. He expected to hate it. However, he realized he had never felt more content during his years in service. It felt good to get back to active service. Eh, Edwards thought feeling a twinge of his old Irish energy, it felt good to get back to more energetic work, it did. It certainly did.

**.~.~.~.~.**

Mary enjoyed the relative silence of the ride to the train station. Much as she adored her aunt, one did get rather exhausted of Rosamond's incessant ramblings and near constant the weekend had given her much to consider, and in spite of her expectations otherwise she was pleased about having gone. Due to the war and Matthew and Sybil's odd views and occupations, she knew spending time with the aristocracy was not going to be her lot in life. Her fantasies of chic dinner parties and society gatherings were not quiet suited to the wife of a solicitor, and the sister of a potential doctor. As she boarded the train, she realized that society for her was now consigned to time she would spend away from her husband and sister. She supposed though that made it simple enough. If the choice was an hour with her husband; even the irritable grousy man of the previous week, or years of dinner parties and societal fawning, she would pick Matthew and gladly.

However, that did not mean society did not interest her. All her life Mary had considered herself the most superior of persons, also she judged herself a fairly shrewd judge of character. Admittedly, she had erred disastrously with Pamuk, and more sadly with Matthew. Still, she had not let either misjudgment mar her respect for her abilities. And it had taken her but a few hours to access the Duke and Sophie's marriage as an utter mismatch. The girl appeared sweet but naïve, and desperately and foolishly in love with a man who had best regarded her with the slightest of affections. At first she had considered them a fair imitation of herself and Matthew… but whatever his mood of late she knew Matthew loved her. Perhaps not romantically… perhaps not that ever again. Still, he cared for her, and she knew he respected her. And she could not envision a world where he would prefer a man, any man's company to her own. Whatever struggles they would have and she anticipated many, Mary felt confident Matthew… her Matthew she thought decidedly would never favor another as he did her. Even in his rancor in 1914, even amid the bliss of his engagement she had known even then, even when she felt she could do nothing he favored her even then. No, they were not destined to be a Sophie and Duke… Not her Matthew not ever….

The thought of her husband caused her to remember Rosamond's odd words and once they were seated in the compartment she turned to face her aunt inquiring, "Whatever did you mean saying Matthew was defending murders?" Mary queried testily. "Matthew is a solicitor not a barrister." She felt a jab of annoyance that she could tell the two occupations apart. Emotionally she accepted Matthew's need for work. Intellectually she felt it rather embarrassing to have a husband who went out to work. Such were the natural contradictions in her character, she supposed.

"Matthew's firm has a very significant criminal case at present. You remember the society murder."

Scowling Mary pronounced with a hint of disapproval, "When someone marries a vulgar dancehall girl one cannot expect the slightest good to come of it."

"Matthew's firm is defending the vulgar showgirl." Rosamond announced with an obvious pleasure at the possession of news that Mary did not possess.

Mary resisted the urge to roll her eyes saying, "Matthew practices industrial law."

Rosamond nodded agreeably, "Yes but at present he's working with a barrister on this particular case."

"Whatever for?" Of course she was certain Matthew was the most brilliant person at the firm. Still why ever would he be placed in such a situation. Surely the firm must employ men of lower social status who might find the world of a barrister a step up in the world. Though of course Matthew had said the firm had so few junior partners.

"I suppose it interests him." Rosamond respond with apparent indifference. "I often wonder how men used to the energy and activity of battle settle back into desk bound occupations."

"Most probably with staggering relief," Mary answered somewhat frustrated that such a thought had never before occurred to her.

"Well," Rosamond said primly, "Matthew is working on the case whatever the cause."

"However do you know any of this?" Mary questioned irritably.

Rosamond smiled mysteriously saying only, "I have my ways." As if quite finished with her commentary Rosamond turned to watch the picturesque sights passing before them as the train began moving. Mary was perfectly certain that Rosamond's visage was not unlike the cat in Lewis Carroll's novel.

**.~.~.~.~.**

As they had done for centuries, and all assumed would continue to do for centuries, around 10:45 the bells began to clang across the city beckoning Londoners to morning services. The sound floated across streets and seeped in under window sills. The sound could be heavenly, never less this morning to Patrick, it sounded tuneless and intrusive.

"What is that damnable clanging out in the street?" Patrick demanded crossly. He had woken a half hour before, feeling no noticeable effects from the night before, still one did not want to hear that racket before one got his senses about himself.

Edwards looked up from the tray he had placed on Patrick's bed saying, "The bells. It is morning service."

"Good grief." Patrick swore, Edward's news having done nothing to assuage his mood. "I forget that people still do that." The terror of the dream had not been swept away quite as easily as the removal of his sweat stained pajamas. He was still a bit shaky, spent from the terrors and the truth. He no longer felt anger at such dreams. Nor did he expect their cessation. Such were the adjustments of life. What had been once unimaginable was now acceptable. And he could half lay aside such memories to grouse about the sound of bells.

Edward's countenance never changed as he surmised, "The war has not changed quite so much, Sir."

Patrick chuckled, "You sound very much like Carson."

Edwards nodded as he raised the cover off the tray saying, "Mr. Carson is very much a man of his times."

Contemplating that thought Patrick said, "My father would quite approve." His tone was utterly unreadable. Without further comment he hurried from the room, passing Lady Sybil as she walked in.

He glanced up taking in Sybil's appearance, her robe and her affronted expression as she exclaimed, "I do hate that Sunday morning racket!"

"Sybil!" Patrick admonished in a shocked tone of voice. "Do not tell us our Sunday lesson star has fallen from her spiritual heights."

"Oh I only do that when I am at home." Sybil admitted dismissively. "Matthew and Mary go to St. Peters. I usually like a lie in on a Sunday morning."

Patrick mulled this over for a minute before saying, "I would have expected the very opposite. You always seemed so dutiful and earnest. Mary was the rebel."

Sybil reached for a triangle of toast, from his try, nibbling on it and saying, "Mary was never the rebel. A complainer yes," She said lifting his tea cup and taking a sip and quickly returning it to the tray, an imitation of a familiar game they'd played what seemed a lifetime ago. "A rebel no…" She said shaking her head decidedly. "Sometimes I am stunned at your lack of perspective regarding my sister."

"I failed to benefit from your very close inspection."

"You spent holidays, Christmas, New Year's with us."

Patrick nodded, "We played on ponies, we romped in the garden, we hid from the governess." He said and Sybil almost felt she could hear her sister in his words. "When we were older I danced with her and raced her on horseback… Not the making of any real intimacy. Not that I even wanted that…really." Patrick rested his head, which ached rather less than he anticipated, against the headboard. "Sometimes I think that before I was very nearly dead and only now am waking up."

Sybil thought that seemed rather to pat an explanation still she smiled prettily, wanting him to think her moved by his words.

**.~.~.~.~.**

An hour later Matthew was dressed and propped in the library… His head ached badly and he felt completely disinterested in anything about him. Edwards had asked about luncheon, but he had insisted there was really no need to bother about that. He could not stomach the idea of food. Besides Sybil had popped in earlier to announce, not happily it seemed, that she and Patrick were going to one of her meetings. His head ached so, he could not even recall which one she mentioned only that she seemed rather dubious about the event. That had struck him as odd; typically one could count on Sybil for relentless enthusiasm and spirit. If she was becoming resigned then what hope was there for the rest of them? Really though the idea was to taxing for him and he did not much examine it.

Exhaling, he considered that aching head or not he really ought to do something. He gave brief, cursory thought to starting on the pile of papers on his desk in the library, but could feel no passion for that idea either. He could begin a novel, but felt little enthusiasm for that idea either. Reclining his head back he closed his eyes and listened to the sounds of the street, thinking how odd it seemed to hear more car horns than horses' hooves. In such a pensive mood, he never less drifted into an oddly restive state neither wholly awake, nor totally asleep.

Like a kind of daydream an image floated down before him, fully formed and complete. He saw a brightly lit room that he recognized as the morning room albeit repainted and slightly redone. In that room he saw a young slip of a girl not more than 11 or 12 perhaps standing beside a Mary who looked older too, though still undeniably beautiful. They were seated at a piano in the sunlit morning room. The girl was nothing like Mary in looks, she was blonde of hair, with eyes that seemed a very odd hue almost a greenish gray. While he could recognize nothing of Mary in her appearance he knew, he just knew somehow that in manner they were very alike and the way the girl looked up at her and the way Mary looked back convinced him they had to be mother and daughter. He heard the sound of a door close and saw the girl look up expectantly calling, "Dad!" He watched her smile and Mary's obvious pleasure… He could not see the man, he looked and looked but he could not manage to see him. And then all at once…he woke with a start, jerking awake and watching in agitation as his knee trembled and shook and felt pain sizzling down the limb.

**.~.~.~.~.**

Sybil walked with briskness and efficiency. Her studies and training in the wards had scrapped away the lithe almost feline movements of her earlier years. The very graces that had so distinguished her before 1914 had been for the next four years utterly useless. And like more than a few of her friends she found herself unable to summon any enthusiasm for returning to the old world of dances and debs. So as she walked she spared little thought for the thoughts of how she might appear. Had she been asked she would have concluded Patrick would have scorned such movements.

For himself Patrick was mostly considering his new straw hat. He had purchased it the week before in the village. The girl in the shop had made it especially for him, with a brilliant navy fabric and the newest style of brim. The first time he wore it, descending the stairs he had watched Edith beaming at it, at him he supposed, and felt very nearly completely happy. Then Robert had walked in looking scornful. Tossing the thought aside he returned to his purposeful stride. He chanced a single glance over at Sybil finding her expression aloof unreadable, as if she considered him a patient, and did not feel quite sufficiently prepared to convey her view about his condition.

So they continued on silently in stride for a solid two streets before Sybil announced jerkily, as if somewhat nervous to make the announcement. "I hardly think you will approve of this meeting."

"Oh," Patrick replied tugging lightly on the bandages covering his cheek. "What makes you believe that?"

"It is a meeting about the role of women in professional life." She explained sounding a bit priggish and determined he half thought she had practiced the sentence in her head or before her dressing room mirror. "Certain to be filled with bluestockings, man haters and other sorts." Before he could reply she said, "Your words."

"Bluestockings?" He repeated sounding abashed by the term. "I suppose, I suppose I must have used that term?" He sounded a little ashamed, more than she expected, but a great deal less than she would have desired.

"Frequently," She agreed firmly. "I thought it quite mean of you."

Patrick considered her words for a moment before saying, "I suppose I was a bit mean then."

He said feeling a kind of twitch forming somewhere deep inside of him. He stopped facing her saying, "Why do you think I wanted to attend?"

"You invited yourself." She answered flatly. "I cannot imagine why. This meeting will hardly be of your mindset."

"Do you now?" He said in a challenging tone feeling the slightest prickling of anger beneath her words, "May I ask how you view my mindset?"

"You are hardly the broad minded sort." Even to her own ears Sybil felt her answer sounded a bit false, blustering rather than convinced.

"Do you think I could not change?" He seemed peeved at the notion. "Certainly I have changed in so many ways that it would be almost defiant if my opinions remained unaltered."

Sybil was muted for only a moment before saying, "But have you changed? I see little evidence."

"Perhaps as you accused me with Mary, you have not looked close enough."

Sybil considered this for a moment before saying, questioning almost, "How can we change the world if we cannot change those around us?" She said softly, her voice conveying weariness rather than vigor. Had the discussion occurred even three years earlier, she realized the entire tone would have been so different. "Not that I even think I can change the world anymore. And I am not certain I can even change the people around me."

Patrick nodded questioning, "Then why the meetings?"

Sybil sighed admitting, "Because if I do not attend the meetings, voice my old convictions then it really is over. You see," She continued, "I have to pretend even if just for myself that I still believe I can change things, that I can change the people around me. I have to do that or else," She sighed finishing the thought with a defeated, "If I cannot do that then it really was for nothing. All the things I did, all the blood and the death…just for absolutely nothing."

A long silence fell between them and they stood motionless watching all the people stroll by them. "Isn't it pretty?" Patrick asked rhetorically, "That you can almost convince yourself that in some fashion you might make it all worthwhile." He looked off in the distance as if searching for some answer. Then he returned his gaze to her and stretched out his hand and intertwined their fingers, as they walked further down the street, like small children keeping hold of one another, protecting one another lest further harm intrude and shatter even the bits of them that remained.

**.~.~.~.~.**

The trembling of his knee was nothing new. His legs had taken to doing that for some time. At first he had hoped, prayed really it signaled recovery, renewal. Matthew had not told Mary or his mother not wanting to see their hopes dashed. Clarkson had been firm, kindly but firm, the trembling was part of the phantom pain. He must not expect or even hope it would ever be more, it could never be more than that. And Matthew had steeled himself, having expected as much and nodded and said, "Of course, of course."

Now on these occasions he simply palmed his thigh with his hand, alleviating the jittering of that useless limb. Phantom pain, phantom movements, no mobility…what a sorry lot. Still, he had little time to pursue the thought, when from the hall he heard Edwards greeting someone with an effusive, "Welcome home Mrs. Crawley we were not expecting you until later this afternoon."

Muffled though it was Matthew heard Mary reply, "Oh we caught an earlier train." He could envision her polite smile as she added, "My aunt's chauffer is bringing my cases." Turning his chair Matthew rolled toward the hall watching his wife peel off her gloves asking "Has my husband returned from church?"

"Mr. Crawley remained at home this morning; I believe he is under the weather." The butler informed in the most detached of tones, quite in the fashion of delivering news of a delay in dinner.

"Ill?" Mary questioned, and Matthew heard the instant shift in her tone. "Is he in bed?"

"He is here." Matthew responded rolling into the room. He watched her glance him over head to useless feet, as if taking inventory. Anticipating her unspoken subsequent question he hastily added, "Fine. I am fine."

Mary smiled, not a smile of mirth or pleasure, but one of expectation. As if, he decided, she had anticipated that very response. "Of course." Absently almost as if she had forgotten something she added, "Well hello then."

Edwards saved him the trouble of responding by intoning, "I will see to the valises. After that would Madame care for tea?"

Mary fixed him with a dazzling smile saying, "Perhaps later." Matthew turned the chair wheeling back into the library, listening for the click of her heels a step behind him. Hearing the sound, he felt an odd reassurance. Reaching up Mary removed her hat placing it on a table nearby, and continuing her private survey of her husband. Carson would have been shocked, but weekends Matthew forewent his tie and coat, wearing a shirt and sweater. The charcoal gray sweater laid open and contrasted ideally with his skin tone, and she loved the sight of his neck glimpsed between the top button he left undone. Drinking in the sight of him, she tried to disguise her pleasure at just looking at him. Checking herself wanting neither to disclose her obvious pleasure, nor desiring to prolong the silence and needing to better access his temperament Mary queried, "You have another headache?"

He nodded admitting with a charming bashfullness, "But one of my own making, I'm afraid."

Mary nodded knowing if she pushed he'd be annoyed. And as he didn't seem annoyed she decided to try and keep him in that mood. "And my sister?"

"Probably feeling the same as me, except clearly recovering better." Seeing her confused expression he tapped his skull offering, "Thick heads."

Mary's eyebrow arched slightly, "Do I want to know?"

"Probably not. Actually, definitely not." He seemed quiet at a loss saying, "I wasn't expecting you back so soon." Seemingly repentant of his statement, he quickly added, "I am glad you are home. Quiet glad," He added certainly. "I found the house rather empty."

"With the servants, and Sybil I hardly think that."

Matthew glanced down a smile almost touching the corner of his lips. "Surely you know…" He let the sentence wilt away as if unwilling to say more. "But no…neither Sybil or Patrick or the servants made up for your absence." He forced himself to look into her eyes as he spoke, and she felt he was conveying, the very most he was capable of feeling let alone saying.

Mary smiled seemingly pleased by his words, but determined not to appear too pleased. Then thinking of the past days of unspoken words, and bottled emotions she forced herself to continue,

"Matthew…." She began purposefully, "I know Papa said something to upset you, or something happened. Mama perhaps." She shook her head dismissively, "The point of it is none of it matters. Whatever papa or mama may have said or not said, that doesn't matter to us. We know where we stand." She looked away as if regretting her last words.

"I suppose we do." He agreed seemingly unperturbed by her words.

She knew there was more to say, much more but she knew too that words were a mine field for them, and likely always would be so… As such she nodded and turned to walk away, perhaps unpack, or speak with Sybil…. As she reached the door she heard Matthew blurt out, "My head is swimming. I could do with a bit of air." Mary turned around, as he continued saying, "How would you feel if went out for luncheon and then took a walk, well a push for me." His words tumbled ungracefully atop one another each as unplanned as the last. "That is…if you are not to tried from your journey."

"I am not too tired." Her smile which she thought subdued was very nearly beatific. "Can you give me a little time?"

"Of course," He agreed chuckling. "I will need some time as well. Shall we say an hour."

"An hour." Mary agreed the dazzling smile still on her face as she hurried from the room and up the stairs.

Listening to the reassuring tap of her heels on the carpet of the stairs, Matthew took measure of his own mood and found it considerably lighter. Oh his head still swam, and he was sure whatever he ate would likely taste of dust. Still, having her back, seeing Mary's smile and her obvious pleasure in his presence had cheered his mood, lightened the gloom of the morning. Uncertain just what to term such a mood, such an obvious response to her presence… Matthew could only decide that he was almost…. perhaps…happy?

**.~.~.~.~.**


	11. Chapter 11

This is a very short update. I was working on what I thought was chapter 11 when I realized that I needed a bridge chapter. So enjoy this as a snack of sorts. And please do leave a review and let me know what you think.

.~.~.~.~.

"I do not understand why you are still there." Edith declared plaintively. Patrick's short visit to London was entering its second week and she was increasingly displeased.

Patrick took a breath, inhaling it deep into his lungs needing a calming moment. He did hate Edith in this type of mood, she sounded so very much like a demanding spinster school mistress, the kind of woman who was dry of skin, gray of hair and altogether altogether insufferable. At moments it chilled him to realize he had shackled himself to such a woman. Still, he reminded himself that Edith was behaving in this manner, only because she missed him. He reckoned Edith was the only person who truly missed his company. Hectoring as she surely was, she cared about him in spite of the burns and the temper. She wanted to marry him, wanted it quite desperately. Most women averted their gaze, while she spoke of falling asleep in his arms. So he tamped down his irritation stating, "Dearest I wrote you that I feared my business might detain me longer than I had expected."

"I remember perfectly well what you wrote." Edith agreed dryly. "I also remember that you still have not disclosed what that business is or why it must be arranged so near to our wedding."

"Edith," Patrick snapped crossly.

Prepared for such a tone, and eager to forestall any objections Edith put in quickly, "Patrick I am to be your wife you must share your life with me."

"I will, I will," He promised softly.

"Well you have shown little evidence of such behavior." Edith remarked nervously and the sudden image of a small girl biting her lip nervously, and staring at the floor when they spoke came to Patrick's memory. Mary sailed into rooms, offering witty barbs and social niceties. Sybil was earnest and charming somehow forever at ease. Edith had just been nervous and well intentioned. "In fact since we became engaged you have taken every excuse to escape me." Her voice distracted him from the fondness of his memories. He wondered again why the pleasantness of memories, was forever tainted by the awkwardness of the present times. Oh she did tire him in such moods. Biting every angry retort he wanted to declare, Patrick forced himself to say kindly, "My dear girl it so pains me that you feel that way. I feel I am been a very poor sweetheart." He tsked as if reproaching himself.

"Oh," Edith answered sorrowfully, "I did not mean to suggest that. I do love you so! It is only that I miss you."

"Yes but I must be better to you my pet." He promised mournfully as if enacting a role. "And I promise the very instant I arrive home I will explain all."

He could feel Edith's smile across the phone line, "Oh my darling."

"My darling," He agreed and quickly added; "Now I must ring off as I am late for breakfast. Goodbye my dear." Without waiting for her answer, he put the receiver back in the hook and turned hurrying toward the dining room.

.~.~.~.~.

Matthew and Mary were lingering in the dining room, enjoying another cup of tea, while engaging in their morning bickering session. Patrick did not pretend to know a great deal about marriages or romantic relationships. Yet, nothing he had seen made him understand Mary and Matthew's odd union.

The couple seemed to engage in daily arguments about any possible issue or controversy, appearing to truly enjoy doing so. This morning they had been discussing her recent visit to the Duke of Crowborough. Mary had shared her view of Sophie which led to a disapproving comment from Matthew. Patrick had cursed being summoned to the telephone, not wanting to miss a tidbit of their discussion. Returning he carried his Times like a late theatergoer clutching a ticket, hurrying to his seat lest he miss any choice dialogue.

"I simply do not understand," Matthew remarked returning his cup to the saucer, "How you can spend a weekend with someone, enjoy their hospitality and then return home and gossip about them."

Mary rolled her eyes proclaiming exasperatedly, "Sometimes you are so very upper middle class."

"I am quite middle class," He agreed seeming to relish the notion. "But by extension of our marriage, and the fact you too are now middle class you too must understand my confusion at the manners or lack thereof in the social mores of the upper class."

Mary smiled sweetly saying, "If nothing else your frequent associations with murders has certainly improved your debating skills." Matthew nodded in feigned appreciation of her comment. "However, you seem to view my mild commentary as more vexing than it is intended to be. I am merely relating some amusing stories that occurred during my visit to an old friend's house. I thought husband that you enjoyed my stories?"

"I do quite relish your stories," He agreed lightly, "But it is vexing of you to make light of the pain of others."

"Pain?" Mary repeated the word in the style of a foreign word that she could not possibly be expected to know. "What in my story suggests pain?"

Matthew lifted a knife, after rubbing it over the butter; he scraped the blade over the toast. "You tell the story of a young girl all but ignored by her husband." He sat the knife aside saying, "I can imagine if you were that girl you would find no amusement in her situation."

Mary took a sip of tea conceding, "When you marry into the aristocracy you must abandon all notions of romance."

"And you accept that?" He answered, sounding to Patrick, an awful prig. Patrick turned eagerly toward Mary eager to hear her retort which he anticipated would be scarring.

"No." She said in an atypically sweet tone. "That is why I married into the upper middle class." Mary lifted her cup to her lips as if covering her smile.

Before Matthew could comment, Sybil hurried into the room announcing excitedly, "Gwen is here?"

"Gwen who?" Mary questioned lifting her tea cup.

Sybil sighed exclaiming, "Mary honestly, Gwen our former housemaid."

A slight frown touched Mary's face as she said, "I do hope she is not here to apply for a position." She frowned shaking her head, "We simply must economize this house no matter what Mama believes."

"Careful my dear," Matthew cautioned munching on his toast, "You are beginning to sound like a solicitor's wife."

"I am a solicitor's wife." Mary said primly touching her lips with her napkin. Her response so coolly put, served to silence Matthew.

Sybil took the opportunity, because really one had to leap in the moment one of the pair of them stopped talking, to put in, "Gwen is not a maid. Not any longer."

"Oh yes," Mary said diffidently as if recollecting something so trivial that was surprised she remembered it at all, "I remember Granny making a great fuss over her not wanting to work in a pleasant house. And," She said finishing indifferently, "She did leave shortly after that." She punctuated the memory with a shrug.

Sybil shook her head, "She became a secretary."

"And I assume you kept up a correspondence with her and shared her every occupational travail." Mary said rolling her eyes at the very thought.

"No." Sybil responded quietly.

"But I am to understand you selected a typewriter based on where our former housemaid is employed."

"Actually I did not." Sybil admitted even more quietly before adding hopefully, "But I was very glad to learn of her success."

Seeking to downplay the issue Matthew tossed his napkin down on the table saying enthusiastically, "Well I am eager to see my machine. Sybil will you push me?"

In answer Sybil crossed the room saying, "Mary are you coming?"

Mary glanced up as if such a thought had never occurred to her. "Why ever would I need to know the slightest thing about a typing machine?" Sybil sighed as she pushed Matthew from the room, murmuring about the lack of progress she could make with her sister.

Patrick rose and walked to the sideboard, lifting a tea cup he said, "Mind if I keep you company?"

Mary smiled, an expression he somehow recognized as insincere as it was automatic, "Of course not."

"I spoke to Edith on the telephone this morning." Mary regarded him with an enigmatic expression. "She is eager for me to return."

"I am certain she is." Mary agreed coolly.

"I thought I might stay a few more days, through the weekend if that would not be too long."

"This is your home."

Patrick studied her, "That will always stand between us will it not?"

"I do not know what you are talking about." She said with a forced smile.

"I think you do." He said rising, "If you will excuse me I will retire to my room. I feel a terrible headache coming."

He had just twisted the handle when he heard her say, "Yes. Among other things."

Patrick lifted his eyes locking his eyes with hers. She did not blink or retract her gaze. Instead she studied him with fierce placidity. He could not understand that expression, any more than he could respond to her words. Instead he heard himself babbling, "I must speak to Cousin Matthew regarding the marriage. I will write a letter first, by then he should have completed his training with the machine."

"Of course." Mary agreed archly, as if dismissing him. And as if he could only obey her he backed from the room, almost hurrying toward the sanctuary of his bedroom.

.~.~.~.~.

"What will you be using the machine for, if you do not mind my asking." Gwen asked matter of factly. She had practiced what she would say, all the way over, it was important she decided to sound professional. She was her own woman. The Crawley's were clients, customers, no longer her employers. She need be professional, and competent, she did not bow or scrape. It was a tricky line changing from servant to professional and she was eager to tread it with the upmost care. However, Lady Sybil and Mr. Crawley were both so nice, so very easy going, and as both seemed to view her as a professional; she quickly forgot how to act and was simply herself. Hence her natural curiosity led to the frankest of questions.

"Correspondence," Matthew answered flatly.

Gwen believed that a half answer, men of Mr. Crawley's sort inevitably had secretaries. Still it was not her business anyway. "It will certainly help with that." She said agreeably.

"I intend to use it to revise my notes." Sybil declared more cheerfully, wanting to buoy the mood.

Matthew's previous reserve seemed instantly blasted away, and he smiled delightedly up at his sister-in-law before boasting to Gwen, "Did Sybil tell you she is training in medicine."

Gwen smiled saying enthusiastically, "She did not. I hope it goes well for you!"

Sybil returned her smile answering in a tone of obvious pleasure, "We will see. Now perhaps you can give me some idea how to use this machine."

.~.~.~.~.

A half hour passed with Gwen going through the training and information about the machine. Both Machine and Sybil were quick learners and in no time she was packing her bag leaving the plainly fascinated pair behind tapping keys and shifting the carriage with glee. As she moved into the hall, she saw the butler approach her saying, "Mrs. Crawley would like to speak with you," Edwards said placing his hand on her elbow and steering her toward the morning room.

"Lady Mary?" Gwen questioned in surprise.

"Mrs. Crawley," Edwards agreed.

Gwen could not disguise her surprise saying, "I do not think Lady Mary, Mrs. Crawley," She corrected herself adding, " Has ever said a single word to say to me." The entire staff, save Anna, lived in fear of having to speak with Lady Mary. The idea of being summoned by the mistress unnerved her, as if time had slipped back. She felt momentarily transformed, glancing downward half expecting to see herself wearing the apron and hat, about to have her bed straightening abilities questioned.

"You were a servant?" Edwards queried his tone critical and dismissive. Edwards shook his head, merely opened the morning room door announcing, "Miss Gwendoline Dawson."

Mary smiled artificially, Gwen remembered her trotting that smile out for all her suitors, "How very nice to see you again Gwen."

"And you as well Lady Mary." Gwen said gamely playing the role as best she could, "I gave Mr. Crawley my best wishes on your marriage." She did not remember if she had, but figured she would be well gone before the truth was revealed.

"Thank you," Mary said remaining seated. "If you can sit for a minute I have a favor to ask."

Gwen shuffled toward the chair sitting on the edge posed for a quick escape at the first opportunity.

"I understand you are now considerably more than a secretary." Gwen nodded but kept quiet allowing Mary to continue, "I was wondering, of course I will pay you…could you teach me how to use my husband's machine."

Gwen's forehead wrinkled and her tone was befuddled as she said, "You want to learn to use a typewriter? Whatever for?"

"Is that any of your business?" Mary asked imperiously, instantly again the Lady Mary of Downton.

"None at all." Gwen conceded frankly, "Of course I can teach you."

"Without informing my husband or my sister." She slid the condition in with ease, seeming to find nothing odd about her request. Of course she would not, Gwen thought half-amused. Still, she was a professional and from her service days onward knew how to still her tongue, "Of course." She promised. If nothing else perhaps she could glean some insight into why her former mistress would ever need think of operating a typewriter. She found indeed, that question engaged her mind all her walk home.

.~.~.~.~.

Striking the keys, Matthew listened delightedly to the pinging of the key against the machine. He pecked the keys hunting one letter then another. Henderson navigated the keys far more skillfully. It would take time and practice, Matthew knew before he could do the same. Still, at least this was one skill his legs could not render impossible.

Sybil had wandered upstairs, studying he supposed. He was alone with the machine and his thoughts, and felt content enough. Immersed as he was in such thoughts, the lone, loud knock caused him to look up in surprise. A knock on the door was an odd occurrence in the house, Mary and Sybil simply walked right rooms. Lately he had to remind himself to knock on Mary's door before rolling in.

Patrick stood by the door saying, "I wonder if I might have a moment of your time."

Matthew nodded and turned from his machine. Gesturing toward the chair opposite his desk, he said, "How can I help you?"

"Do you like your machine?" Patrick asked in a tone that suggested he had little real interest in the answer, but felt compelled to ask the question. "The thing does make an awful racket."

"I do like it" Matthew answered curtly before adding more evenly, "How may I assist you?" Seeming to need something to occupy his attention he needlessly straightened some papers on his desk, readjusted the copy of _Tales of Soldiers and Civilians_ atop another stack of papers.

"Not in the mood for a chat eh?" Patrick questioned, answering himself he said, "I heard you and Mary's talk about the Duke and Sophie."

"Does no one call him by his Christian name?"

"His first name is laughable" Patrick responded continuing, "All his life its been Duke." Matthew nodded as if finding sense in the answer. "Did Mary find him much changed?"

"You would have to ask her." Matthew suggested placidly. "We do not really lounge about discussing her views on other men." An odd smile played at his lips, "Though I imagine she and the Duke could have a very nice chat on that topic."

Patrick settled back against his chair. "Have you seen Mary and I discuss a single thing during my visit?" Matthew realized he had not, and thought that curious. Still he made no response. "Mary and I were never very good at talking. I was fond of her in my fashion, and I do believe she liked me well enough in her own but…" He looked off saying, "Well it certainly does not matter now."

Matthew sensed a kind of tension in Patrick's words, but decided to ignore it asking instead, "How does the Duke fit in to whatever you need?" The sentence was awkwardly placed; still he hoped it would lead Patrick to the point.

"The thing is," Patrick began dragging his nails along the chair, "Well I was wondering," He laughed as if unnerved by his own unease. "Would you stand up, sit down for me at my wedding ceremony?"

"Why would you want me?" Matthew questioned bluntly.

"Do not think so bad of yourself old man."

"I do not." Matthew snapped adding indifferently, "Aside from the fact I am married to your future sister-in-law….we have not one thing in common. Besides we barely know each other."

"And what we do know we aren't fond of." Patrick supplied completing Matthew's thought. He leaned back in the chair, "Let us be honest were not circumstances as they are I doubt we would share a single conversation."

Matthew considered his words saying, "True."

"But circumstances are what they are." Patrick stated continuing his ministrations over the woodcut of the chair arm, "I am marrying your sister-in-law, we are cousins." The connection seemed flimsier than he had imagined. He wished he had inherited the Crawley gift for gab that had settled on Violet and Mary.

"Did someone else reject the offer?" Matthew questioned bluntly, truthfully he could think of no other reason why Patrick would select him.

Patrick chuckled admitting, "Several."

Matthew touched his wedding ring distractedly adjusting it, saying stiffly, "I am sorry."

"Don't be." Patrick said and there was rigidity in his tone that scorned sympathy. "My fault really… I should have taken the lack of invitations, the notes left unanswered as the rebuffs they clearly were." He shrugged adding, "In their place I'm not sure I would reacted differently." Seeing Matthew's perplexed expression, Patrick exclaimed, "Oh don't be so dishonest. If you were upright would you want to spend hours with a man in a chair?"

"What about the Duke?" Matthew offered by way of a suggestion. "Mary saw him last week. Surely…"

"He was the first person I asked," Patrick offered by way of a response. "Back in the day I fancied his company quite a bit. Not in the way some did. But I considered us friends." His voice drifted off before he continued adding, "Politely but firmly, said no via a note. He writes very nice notes. I believe he will find a very polite excuse to miss the wedding."

Matthew chuckled causing Patrick to look up in surprise. "I was just thinking," Matthew said by way of explanation, "How very different the aristocracy is from the middle class. My sort would be the first ones to agree to stand up, attend the service. The middle class would view it their duty to support a veteran."

Crossing the room Patrick stopped at the drink cart pouring himself a generous amount of Bourbon. "Join me?" He asked disinterestedly. Matthew shook his head. "You will do it then. Stand up for me," He elaborated helplessly.

"Certainly," Matthew said. "Honored to…."

Patrick looked up peering at Matthew clearly finding him incomprehensible, "Honored." He mimicked his cousin's words in a disbelieving tone. "Duty and honor," He practically spat the words adding acidly, "No wonder Robert is so fond of you. You talk of your middle class roots, but the noblesse oblige nonsense. You really believe that whole routine." He took to laughing, a sound not of mirth, rather one borne of incomprehension. "You really still believe it."

.~.~.~.~.


	12. Chapter 12

Let me precede this chapter by saying my muse grabbed hold of me with this chapter and would not let go. And the whole while I was like I don't get it, this seems so tangential. Then I was like oooooohhhhhhh. So that's a long way of saying that while this chapter may seem tangential, it really isn't. BTW Serena89 was 100% correct that Lady Mary would supersede Mrs. Crawley. I will explain why Edwards calls her that in a chapter or so. Clearly it's all Sybil's fault.

I am quite curious what you make of this chapter so please do leave a review.

**.~.~.~.~.**

Peter Simon had loved spring. He disliked the near constant drizzles of fall, the frigidity of winter, and loathed the wet humidity of summer. Spring he adored. He rowed in the Thames, and whacked balls across the lawns of a dozen different families each spring. That made the season all the harder for his mother in the spring of 1919. Sarah had borne Peter, raised him, loved him always and, one May afternoon in 1917 a telegram had arrived saying Peter Simon would never be the same again.

Actually, the telegram had been vague, wounded it said. How she celebrated that word, wounded. In a city filled with widows draped in black, where mourning wreaths dotted many a door, her boy was just wounded. How grateful she had been. Just wounded….. It seemed a gift.

Oh it would be difficult she was certain. She could not turn a corner without seeing a warrior missing an arm or leg, or being pushed about. Still they were alive. Life meant everything or so she had thought. Even then at fifty she had been naïve enough to believe life alone made it all worthwhile.

The following twelve months had been the murdering of all those thoughts. She knew now, oh she knew that her wounded boy would not recover. It had come to her in small measuring doses, like arsenic, slowly poisoning her from deep within her body. The Peter who played tennis, and rowed and swam like a fish was no more. The keen bright boy who read Conrad and Conan Doyle now knew nothing, or perhaps everything who knew really. He only seemed to stare, his eyes blinking, his voice forever silent. Was he wise like the Buddah or dim like the imbecile that worked for the butcher? Whether Peter lived six months or sixty years his lot was to be fed and changed. "Shellshock," The doctor had explained quietly, gently as if fearing for her reaction, "Permanent." Just wounded…. And just permanent... He would forever be permanently wounded and permanently just beyond their reach.

She could make no sense of it. If others could be cured why not Peter, she asked doctor after doctor? "He is so smart. He works so hard." She had pleaded with the doctors. As if speaking German, and being a wicket keeper meant something. And the doctors, gentle men, not the kind of mad scientists she had expected, had sat her down and tried to explain the unexplainable. And no one could help Peter or for a time her.

She could find solace in none of her relationships, beliefs or old connections.

She drifted away from everything she believed, every friend she had. She felt like a dancer trying to remain in step with a tune written by banshees. And she twirled and spun, and danced ever closer to the edge of madness. Simon, the older heavily aged Sir Peter Simon sent her to a good asylum, and there the last impossible irony happened. The mother of a boy who could not recover from madness, recovered from madness. It was like some sick, sick joke.

She had been home three months. Simon, she could not bear to even think of his Christian name…their son's name, crept about her, inquiring about her comfort, watching always watching her. His hair had gone silver, his energy and cheer sapped by loss, he as different in his way as she was in hers… They tiptoed about one another like fond yet skittish strangers. Simon slept in his dressing room even before Peter, now he slept further down the hall. Loss seemed to be pushing them emotionally and geographically apart.

**.~.~.~.~.**

He had informed her of their dinner plans a week ago. "My young Crawley." Simon had intoned sounding more like a professor than husband, "He is married."

"His cousin, I believe." Sara agreed pleased to show she knew a few things still. The hospital had been in the Dales and Sara had heard of the marriage of a war wounded solicitor and his cousin.

He nodded spearing a loose pea, "Her sister is living with them. A cousin is visiting as well."

"I see." She granted dully, unsure why Simon was concerning himself with the domestic arrangements of a junior partner. "Peter brought him here a few times."

Simon reached for his wine, swilling it about the glass, admiring the vibrant red hue of the Claret. "I remember." He said staring determinedly at the liquid. "Young Crawley is coming along wonderfully at the firm."

She pushed the knife into the lamb, cutting it into two halves before replying, "I am glad of that. He has certainly been through an ordeal."

"Yes." Simon agreed returning his glass to the table. "I wonder if you might feel up to a dinner."

"With Mr. Crawley and the others?" The conversation taxed her terribly, it was like some extended bad mitten match. He knocking birdies of information in the air, she expected to dodge and weave to parlay the objects back to him. She did wish he would get to the point.

Simon nodded adding, "I must caution you the cousin was badly wounded." He deliberately looked down into his peas as if seeking an answer in vegetables.

"I understand his entire head is swaddled in bandages." Sara stated eyeing Simon with a steely expression, lest he fear her reaction. This was a thing you learned at asylums, no one looked you in the face when they feared a reaction they could not process or easily dismiss. It was a surprisingly useful bit of knowledge one could use in daily life, so little one learned in asylums was the slightest use in the outside world; one clung to the useful bits.

Simon lifted his glass taking a sip of the Claret afterward he said, "Do you fear it will be to distressing to spend an evening with them?"

She paused considering the idea before replying, "Of course not. Peter would want us to look after his friends."

"Yes," Her husband agreed taking a bite of his lamb, "I imagine he would." There was as always tightness to his tone, that Sara could not understand and had some years ago given up trying to.

**.~.~.~.~.**

Standing now in the dining room, Sara afforded herself one last glance at the table. The staff had prepared everything beautifully as always. Still, she had never completely rid herself of the young bride's desire for one last look before any dinner party. And she felt doubly uncertain this evening, knowing it was a test she felt woefully unprepared for, and yet had to endure. A few of Peter's friends, a very few, had paid calls. Those had been stiff visits, the boys' formality barely masking their discomfort. At the close of each visit she had sent the footman to the chemists for a mixture, while her husband had retreated to his study playing his Wagner until she felt ready to scream. If tonight was similar to those visits….

"My dear," Simon's voice summoned her as he stepped into the room. "I believe I heard their motor." He held his arm aloft summoning her back to his side, away from her darker thoughts.

**.~.~.~.~.**

It was their motor. Patrick exited the car stepping into the pink dusk, adjusting his jacket, smoothing his tie. It felt odd, to be going to a meal wearing a suit. Peter Simon had insisted on more casual attire, not wanting to further complicate the evening for his wife. However, for Patrick the lack of formal dress was a very great complication. James would have balked at the notion of his son out without a dinner jacket, and he half expected to turn around and see his disapproving expression. In Toronto, Patrick had not even possessed a dinner jacket. Since his return, however, Patrick had become accustomed to white tails or black tie for dinner. Tying a four in hand rather than wrestling with a bow tie, he simply felt out of place, "I have had a dream like this." He said to no one in particular. "Except in that one I showed up at one of Cora's tea parties in my cricket whites." Turning he extended his hand to help his cousins from the car.

Sybil took his hand stepping from the car dressed in a gown of the palest shade of pink. The dress was very much in the current style. For a woman who spent her days nursing the sick, and avoiding the slurs of her male classmates Sybil retained a key eye for style. Selecting a new dress pleased her as much as learning a new body part. It was an enigma of her character that she considered herself a rebel, even while her appearance gave every indication of conforming. "I know!" Sybil said referring to his cricket commentary. "Going to dinner with my brother-in-law's employer," Sybil announced excitedly. "I feel so terribly working class!"

"Perish the thought." Mary replied sounding faintly horrified by the mere idea**.** Stepping from the car she glanced around her with undisguised curiosity before turning and glancing at Matthew. Her lavender gown was similarly fashionable to her sisters', however as she might put it beside receiving callers and planning dinners she had little else to do. Selecting gowns, arranging flowers, choosing the dish for dinner these were the types of tasks that were apparently to fill the majority of her life… Smoothing the front of her dress she said, "Sybil how many times do I have to remind you Matthew and I are not working class." Then as if by design she, Sybil and Patrick took a few steps forward and turned their backs to the car.

Once their backs were turned, the chauffer lifted Matthew's wheelchair from the boot and then lifted him, placing him in the chair. When his legs were adjusted and he looked seated rather than positioned, Matthew cleared his throat signaling they could turn saying, "Well then."

Touching his tie a second time, ensuring it was perfectly straight, Patrick said, "I do say can you remind me what happened to their son." Apologetically he added, "I am afraid my short term memory is as flawed as my long term."

The brief sense of mirth drained from Matthew's face as he explained, "Shellshock. Permanent." Concerned by his tone, Mary laid a supportive hand on his shoulder, lightly massaging circles atop his suit. Whether Matthew noticed her movement was unclear for he said only, "Battle of the Strait of Otranto."

"I do apologize," Patrick said a bit too lightly, "I do not possess your near encyclopedic recall for battles."

"The Mediterranean. Naval." Matthew supplied, his tone even tighter and more controlled than moments before.

Patrick nodded saying only, "Awful."

Mary rolled her eyes, refraining from the sharp retort that leapt to mind suggesting, "We should ring the bell."

"Yes." Matthew agreed, distractedly reaching up to clasp the hand Mary laid on his shoulder.

Striding ahead Sybil pushed the bell. In moments a tall sonorous butler announced, "Mr. Matthew and Lady Mary Crawley, Lady Sybil Crawley and Mr. Patrick Crawley."

A red haired woman stepped forward, "Good evening we are so pleased to have you. I am Sara Simon."

Even as she spoke, a silver haired man stepped forward extending his hand, "Lady Mary it is a pleasure to meet you at last. My secretary simply will not cease raving about your every virtue." Peter Simon said ignoring the formalities that typically accompanied such introductions.

"A very wise man." Mary remarked with a slight smile, offering her hand to her husband's employer.

"So he continually informs me." Simon agreed neutrally. "Lady Sybil," He greeted her proffering a smile, "How very pleasant to see you again."

"And you."

"I trust you will be providing us a lesson in modernization, and the new role for women." His mockery was gently delivered and weighted with clear affection.

Sybil feigned being slightly put out, "I promised to cease for tonight only."

Simon's smile was very nearly repentful as he said, "Perhaps another time."

As Simon turned to greet Patrick, Mary turned toward her sister hissing scornfully, "You've been lecturing again."

"He does not mind." Sybil said off handedly, pretending to shift her entire focus to her cousin and Mr. Simon's introduction.

"Mr. Crawley we were so pleased you could join us."

"The pleasure is entirely mine." Patrick replied reaching for Mrs. Simon's extended hand, "I thank you for kindly inviting me, Mrs. Simon."

Sarah Simon smiled saying quietly, "Your gratitude while charming is quite unnecessary." She said pausing as if mustering her words, "We are always so grateful to host our young heroes."

Perhaps owing to his injury, Matthew had become hyperaware of people's response to war veterans and most especially serviceman who were injured. As they moved into the drawing room, and eased into the social niceties of the evening, he felt his attention turning to his hostess. He had honed a keen sense of the razor's edge between sincerity and insincerity. Within seconds he deduced Sarah Simon was at best stilted, ill at ease. He had not yet quite decided if her artificialness was borne of insincerity or illness. It was a poorly kept secret that Mrs. Simon had been ill. The extent of her recovery was less understood. Some of the very junior men at the firm, men who had just missed the war, seemed to hold that once lost sanity was irretrievable and as such had little interest in Mrs. Simon. Matthew having traversed that border was curious to see what he made of Mrs. Simon, and viewed this evening not unlike Schliemann preparing to catalog the ruins of Troy. As Mr. Simon went about the social niceties of questioning his guests, Matthew found his attention honing in on Mrs. Simon. He took mental notes of her speech patterns and movements. Her speech, he decided, seemed a tad delayed as if she paused to construct sentences before voicing them.

Turning toward Mary, Mrs. Smith who had taken a seat in a chair asked Mary, "And are you enjoying life in London?"

"Quite." Mary agreed with a smile, "It is quite a departure from Downton."

"Thank the heavens for that." Sybil said matter of factly.

Sarah smiled saying, "Yorkshire seems a very tranquil place."

"Picturesque." Sybil agreed bluntly adding automatically, "Dull."

"Do tell us what you really think Sybil." Patrick urged a smile tugging at his lips.

"It is quite refreshing," Simon remarked repressing a smile of his own. Matthew knew that his most conservative employer had developed a fondness for the spirited girl who often met him at the close of the workday. Sybil's expounding sermons seemed to bemuse rather than disturb Simon, even if Matthew rather suspected the man did not agree with a single word she said.

"London is just such a modern place, and there is such opportunity here." Sybil continued enthusiastically.

"And you Patrick," Sarah said turning toward him, "Do you prefer Yorkshire or London."

Patrick lifted his leg propping his ankle on his knee answering, "While I do relish the company of my most beloved cousins, I also enjoy my life in the country." Finding his answer incomplete he added, "After the past few years I appreciate the peace of the country, the old routines. My accident afforded me a very different life, the war more so… I am grateful to get back to the old life."

"Well I for one am most grateful for your return." Simon replied handing Matthew a glass half filled with whisky. "My young solicitor is a fine asset to the firm."

"I do not know about that." Matthew responded dubiously feeling uneasy with compliments.

"You must become accustomed to taking compliments." Simon declared somberly.

"I have told him that as well." Mary agreed taking her husband's hand and keeping it within her own.

Matthew's only response was to continue peering downward, remaining mutedly silent. Smiling wryly at his young employees state, Simon turned toward Patrick questioning, "And what is your occupation, if I may inquire."

"Of course, of course." Patrick agreed his words suggesting a looseness that his tone could not quite muster. "I am to be heir to Lord Grantham, and as such will manage his properties and estates."

Simon nodded as if approving of the statement. "That will be a difficult job. Taxes are going to alter the shape of this country." Taking a sip of his drink he continued, "The talk of a land fit for heroes is crashing against the realities of a post war Britain."

Matthew felt his attention drifting, whenever talk turned to heroes or the war, he tended to disengage his interest and focus. Mention of heroes brought back torturous memories from the trenches and images of men he knew blown to bits; of the grim struggle just to survive a day. Grandiosity and talk of heroes best fitted men who had remained well away from the actual day to day business of war. Besides as the talk continued, he felt his attention drifting again to Sara. She played with her bracelet and the fringe on her dress increasingly as the talk of heroes continued. However, further observations were limited as the butler coolly intoned dinner was ready and all began the business of moving in to dinner.

**.~.~.~.~.**

During the initial courses the conversation remained on safe areas; cricket scores, music, theater…During these discussions Matthew kept silent, maintaining a close eye on Sarah. She seemed serene very much the society matron, a cagier form of Cora perhaps. Hearing his own name however caused him to turn his attention to Mary and Simon's conversation.

"I have always been proud of my husband." Mary replied to a query Matthew failed to hear. "And I have no doubt he has a brilliant legal mind."

"Still," He said shifting into the questioning barrister role. "I cannot imagine one is thrilled to marry a solicitor then be plunged into the scandal of a barrister's spouse?"

Mary smiled the enigmatic, unreadable smile that seemed to reduce most men to liquid sometimes by desire, sometimes by fear. "I only planned on spending my life with Matthew. Anything beyond that was irrelevant."

"Admirable." Simon said setting his knife aside. "A few of the other partners, as Matthew well knows, did not have similar reactions."

"I see," Mary answered knowingly, causing Matthew to smirk. He seldom told her any details of his actual work.

Sybil's head bobbed up interestedly as she questioned, "Why did your partners object?" Then seeing Mary's disapproving expression she added politely, "If I may ask."

"Certainly," Simon agreed granting her his full attention. Reaching for his glass he took a sip of his Claret, moistening his lips before answering, "Even among a morally questionable profession such as mine, people have standards or more correctly an idea of standards." Seeming to warm to his subject he continued, "It is acceptable to defend munitions factories in complaints where people are killed due to faulty machinery or dangerous practices. Much as our firm has protected clients who manufactured faulty munitions equipment…."

" Beastly." Sybil exclaimed before she could stop herself. "Oh I am sorry."

"Why?" Simon replied eyeing her interestedly. "It was beastly. Do you disagree Matthew?"

Matthew made a show of slowly chewing his potatoes, taking his time before answering the question; "My focus has been industrial law, with some wills and licensing issues filling my time. I have hardly had the time to consider the morality of such cases." He demurred in the coolest of tones.

Simon chuckled delightedly stating, "What a perfect solicitor/barrister response."

"I hardly believe," Matthew said a look of confusion crossing his features. "That is…"

"Do not apologize, my boy," Simon corrected in the warmest of tones, "It is a credit to your aptitude that already I see you honing in on new skills. In a year, two years' time I can hardly imagine how well you will handle such questions."

"Does it not concern you," Sara interjected entering the conversation as if she had been actively participating all along, "How the cases you are taking, will cause the firm to be viewed?"

Simon's eyes narrowed and he compressed his lips. "I can scarcely bother myself about how this society views anything. We have of course discussed this."

"Yes," She agreed before adding, "I am simply unsure I understand your answers."

"The war has changed everything." He pronounced, and the guests had a sense they had been plunged headfirst into an ongoing and controversial discussion within the household. "The world is changing so rapidly." Simon stated thoughtfully, "The old barriers seem quite irrelevant to me. Besides with Matthew's wartime experience I felt he already had much of the barrister in him and might well exploit that skill."

"Wartime experience?" Mary questioned her brow furrowing in confusion. She had meant to keep silent, but the idea of Matthew's experience somehow driving decisions puzzled her.

"Sir, we mustn't bore the ladies with discussions of the war." Matthew cautioned his eyes returning to Mrs. Simon.

Simon nodded in acquiesce before turning to his wife and saying, "Nor must we bore them with our domestic squabbles."

"Of course," She agreed with a smile that seemed a trifle to automatic to be wholly believed. Focusing her attention on Matthew, Sara observed not unkindly, "Is the food not to your satisfaction Mr. Crawley?"

"The food is quite excellent," Matthew complimented offering a reassuring smile. "My appetite is not what it once was."

Sara nodded saying, "I quite understand."

"I suppose during the war we all became accustomed to smaller portions." Simonnoted in a fashion that might as easily be perfunctory as bored. It was clear that the change of topic had effectively drained his interest in the discussion.

"Less meat certainly," Patrick agreed lifting his own fork to his mouth.

"No tragic loss." Sybil observed looking disinterestedly at the heavy gravy and meat left untouched on her plate.

"I thought you were a country girl," Simon observed clearly relieved to have a safer topic. "I assumed you loved the fruits of the earth and animals of the land."

"Hardly," Sybil responded with the gentlest of snorts. And the entire table if in relief chuckled loudly at a joke which required far, far less.

**.~.~.~.~.**

Once the ladies had retired to the drawing room, Simon opened a cigar box, extending it to his guests he said, "May I tempt you gentleman?"

Patrick shivered, "No."

"Oh." Simon drew in a breath, suddenly aware he had committed a faux paus.

Shaking his head Patrick suggested, "Please do enjoy yourself."

"If you are quite certain." Patrick nodded, causing Simon to turn to his other guest suggesting, "Matthew?"

"Thank you but no." Matthew replied firmly. "I am trying to limit my vices."

Simon chuckled merrily, "As a solicitor you are well to do so." The joke was weak, but all three men laughed heartily, grateful for an opportunity for levity.

"Solicitor or barrister?" Patrick posed interestedly. The question had been bothering him all evening. "To don the wig or not as it were."

"It seems a bit of both." Matthew answered quietly, the uncertainty obvious in his tone. "I suppose I will have to keep a wig at the ready. If I have the skills after all…"

"Nonsense my boy," Simon goaded encouragingly. "A man of your talents cannot waste his life asking elderly women who they want to leave the family silver to. Nor should your skills be limited to codicils and trade agreements. I mean to lead you toward a more proactive life."

Almost under his breath Matthew observed, "Just as the doctors are telling me to adjust to a more sedentary one."

Patrick reached out an arm and snaked it up Matthew's back, squeezing his shoulder and said jocularly or sincerely for with Patrick who could really tell, "I shall endeavor to watch and learn from your fine example cousin. Conquering our wounds and scaling the ladders of success."

Matthew looked if anything even more uncertain at this news. His countenance appearing more troubled than enthused.

**.~.~.~.~.**

After the ladies retreated to the drawing room, Mary began carefully surveying the room and her hostess. The pale yellow walls, the Oriental carpeting, the tasteful antiques all seemed so perfectly selected, intended to discourage overt attention. The room designed to be subdued rather than noticed. Sara Smith seemed much the same. Matthew had told her of their hostess' affliction, and the information had quite inflamed Mary's curiosity. Families like theirs all had at least one perfectly insane member. The Napiers' had a cousin who stalked around the estate in riding clothes, forever waving her whip and talking up the hunt. The Andersons' had an aunt who kept no less than 15 cats. Yet, all the people of such conditions were carefully maintained within the family. Mary had never met anyone who had actually been placed in one of the dreadful institutions. She certainly did not approve of people who belonged in such institutions. Aware of her position, Matthew had asked if she could attend the dinner. Honestly he could be so perfectly impossible. As if she could imagine not going to the dinner. She was ravenously curious about Mrs. Sara Smith. Mary did not consider these positions contradictory in the least. Even Granny who disapproved of everybody, was generally curious about almost everyone. And Mary was certainly so very curious about a woman of their sort who had been…she shuddered to even think of the term.

And the longer the evening lasted the more curious Mary found Sara Smith. Mary nursed a growing conviction that beneath the red hair and feigned placid exterior, Mrs. Smith was not only deeply unhappy-and how could she be anything else-but also deeply troubled. One of the benefits of being raised by an eternally scheming Neurasthenic is it allowed Mary to easily spot someone concealing emotions as a means of retaining control. Sara was clearly behaving in such a fashion, but she also seemed angry and irritated with her husband and her situation. Mary found this understandable and utterly fascinating. She half wished Violet was joining them for dinner, Granny would simply ask the questions that were fascinating Mary.

"Lady Mary?"

Recognizing the tone as a question, Mary assumed her lack of attention had been found out. As such she put on her brightest smile answering, "Yes."

"I asked how you found marriage." Sara reiterated seemingly interestedly.

Mary had no idea how she could even begin to answer that question so she said only, "I am very happy with Matthew."

Sara angled her head saying, "That is a good start."

"Aren't all newlywed wives blissful?" Mary uttered, a pat remark she wanted to recant, virtually the second it escaped her lips.

Sarah, however, merely regarded her with an enigmatic expression. "The novels and stories say so, yes."

"They do." Mary mimicked momentarily struck for words.

Sara seemed not to notice Mary's state for she continued questioning, "And how do you feel about being a barrister's wife?"

"I am very happy with my husband." Mary repeated, unclear if her hostess was prying or forgetful.

Sarah fixed her guest with an odd expression, "It always starts that way."

Ill at ease with the direction the questions seemed to be shifting, Mary hurriedly responded, "It has certainly made our dinner discussions more interesting."

Sara's lips quirked, but her tone was not amused as she demanded, "Is that important….. being interesting?"

The question was hard and rhetorical and Mary answered by altering the topic. "He certainly seems to be enjoying the challenge."

"It is a very fascinating case." Sybil stated quite truthfully, for she had been pouring over newspaper accounts of the murder well before Matthew began working on the case.

"Infamous," Sara scoffed dismissively. "Three years ago Peter would never have touched such a scandal."

"Oh," Sybil stated uncertain if she was being informed or reproved. Casting a questioning glance at Mary she asked, "Why?"

Sara twisted her fingers, clasping and unclasping them. "The new world," Her lips twisted into an ugly expression as if to match the word. Sybil glanced confusedly over at her sister, who appeared as befuddled as she felt. "That's what he calls it," Sara continued explaining, "The post war world. Things are different in the new world." She shook her head, "As if a fool could not see the difference. Thousands, millions perhaps maimed, entire towns destroyed, a whole generation wiped away… But that does not see that to disturb Peter. He only sees the new industries, new behaviors, new social rules… "

"And that made him take the case." Sybil had mastered the art of realizing the precise second a pitying or dark discussion needed to be severed to save the patient. And Sara Simon's speech had clearly identified her as a patient.

Sara's smile was wry, making Mary presume that she recognized Sybil's ploy. "It has been guiding his decision making for some time."

"His reputation is growing." Sybil said rather surprising Mary. Recognizing Mary's unasked question, Sybil continued, "The firm is much discussed at the hospital."

"Infamous." Sara repeated, and this time Mary was almost certain the woman had not forgotten her earlier speech. "We can certainly bank more, and your husband will be able to live in a style unusual for solicitors. Economically we will benefit. Morally though it all becomes gray… I suppose that fits this new post war world." She said and then hesitantly and so softly the others strained to hear she said, "A new world without a son." Uttering the final phrase seemed to shatter something inside Sara, for her face began to tremble. Not the trembling of romance novels or the kind Mary had half mastered by 17, the sort which enhances beauty making men eager to protect a female, the kind of tears one could quickly shut off. No this was a wholly different sort of crying and a considerable less pretty sort. Her eyes becoming almost instantly swollen and red, the trembling of her chin exposing the size of her chin, and her body seemed once to heave in an ungracious and utterly unladylike fashion. Yet, even it began, Sara seemed to gulp and draw it back saying, "I have become overtired I am afraid." Her voice became suddenly soft, malleable almost as she added apologetically, "I wonder if you would mind very much if I had my husband come and join us?"

"Of course not," Sybil allowed now studying her hostess with the same intensity as her brother-in-law had displayed a hour before…. "Might I help you?" The reflex to nurse, to aid the unwell could never be wholly tamped down; it had become as much a part of her as her soul.

"Oh no, no," Sara answered, again the poised calm woman of society. "That is quite unnecessary. I am simply a bit tired. I do believe preparing for this evening required more energy than I expected." The answers seemed to roll off her tongue.

"You seem quite upset." Sybil persisted, concern evident in her tone.

"Oh," Sara scoffed lightly. "You must pay no attention to the things I say." She responded sighing as she added, "I know I never do." Nodding she walked through the door closing it behind her, an action Mary scarcely noticed. Despite being seated by a cozy fire Mary had never felt to frigidly cold in her life.

**.~.~.~.~.**

Entering the hall Sara heard her husband proclaiming, "It is a most exciting time to be practicing this profession." He stopped at the sight of his wife, instantly recognizing her state. "My dear?" Whatever she felt about her husband, Sara felt a great sorrow that she had turned him into a man who so easily recognized his wife's fragility.

"Gentleman," Sara requested trying to retain a poised veneer, even as the state seemed ever harder to maintain. "I do wonder if I might have a moment with my husband."

Seeing her eyes and expressions, Patrick quickly agreed saying, "Matthew and I will go and join the ladies."

"I apologize," Sara offered apologetically. "I will not detain my husband for long." Patrick merely nodded and began pushing Matthew toward the morning room. She watched them, waiting until they were well inside the room before saying, "I was, am I suppose a bit upset. I think it would be better if I went upstairs and rested."

"Of course." Simon agreed firmly. "Of course you should." He said guiding her toward the staircase. "Do not worry about our guests I can see to them." His voice was calm, prepared almost, as if he had expected this, and considered how best to respond.

She nodded answering, "I think I will then." Turning she moved toward the stairs, a slow, defeated movement.

**.~.~.~.~.**

Striding back to his guests Simon forced a cheerful air which he did not remotely feel. "I do apologize," He announced breezily forcing a placidity he did not truly feel, "My wife became suddenly tired and felt it best to retire. I do assume you understand."

"Of course." Patrick said smiling. "Since we did not have an opportunity to do so I hope you will thank her for hosting such a lovely dinner."

Simon smiled gratefully responding, "Of course."

"It was quite lovely." Sybil agreed and the others mumbled similar and equally untrue comments.

Simon smiled feeling an odd gratitude to the group. "I do think, well I believe it did go better than I expected."

"Recoveries of this sort can take a long time." Sybil said confidently, feeling an odd comfort in returning to medical matters.

Simon nodded remarking, "Tonight was of course a first step. I do so appreciate all of your understanding." He looked a bit lost as if unsure how to express his thoughts.

"Perhaps we should say goodnight." Matthew suggested gently.

Simon nodded confirming, "Perhaps that would be for the best." Pulling the bell cord nearest the fireplace he said, "I do appreciate your assistance." And his voice seemed not unlike his wife's walk…weary, and defeated.

**.~.~.~.~.**

After the pleasantries were concluded, Simon watched the butler closed the door on his departing guests, before slowly climbing the stairs. Exhaling he released a breath he had felt he had been holding since that awful telegram arrived. The following year he had feared he would lose Sara as well. Tonight though suggested she was able to resume on some level their old habits-dinners, cocktails with friends, perhaps eventually a weekend in the country. Her recovery would of course take time, he must keep a slow pace, minimize his expectations. At least it was a start…For so long he had not even hoped for such a small victory.

Reaching her bedroom door, Simon rapped twice upon the thick wood. Hearing her invitation he slowly pushed the door open, "How's doing?" To late he recalled that was one of Peter's favorite sayings, still saying it felt oddly soothing.

Sara frowned then seemed to push the expression aside answering, "Fine, I suppose. Have they gone?" He nodded crossing the room to sit upon her bed. "What they must think," She said nervously clutching the sheet.

"They think you are tired." He promised reassuringly, "They know what you have been through."

"Everyone knows what I have been through." She sighed resting her hand over her eyes, everyone feels very sorry for me."

"Don't you appreciate that?"

"I wish I could." She answered glancing down at the bed sheets.

Simon looked down, then away as if desperate to avoid her gaze. "Can you still.."

Sara looked away as if unwilling to consider the question to deeply, as if fearing a discovering a wound even more grievous than she feared.

**.~.~.~.~.**

"That poor woman." Mary declared as the car jerked into motion. As the car pushed on into the darkness, fatigue washed over the four occupants. Parties when pleasant left one with a kind of delicious exhaustion, a sense of release. Tonight had been the complete opposite. They felt bone tired and the buzz filling their brains was anything but agreeable. As a group they felt not unlike sprinters who had completed a long, challenging course, and had ended in fifth place, lacking praise or honor.

Matthew patted her elbow offering her a tired smile before addressing Patrick, "You were awfully quiet."

"Shellshock," Patrick remarked letting his words fall off. "I never know what to say to those poor families."

"Why?" Mary queried with renewed interest. Patrick so rarely said anything that was of the slightest interest to her. She tried to lunge for any tidbit of his that was worth even a shilling.

"Well," He said rubbing at an invisible spot on his tie. "With Matthew or me there are easy assurances, our wounds are of the acceptable type."

"Speak for yourself." Matthew retorted his voice suddenly cold and sharp, causing Mary to reach out and squeeze his hand in hers.

"Oh I don't mean it like that." Patrick snapped dismissively plainly irritated by Matthew's comment, "Honestly you really can be a complete prig!"

"Well," Matthew stated in a begrudging tone, "What did you mean?"

"I only meant it's easier with the type of wounds we have." Patrick explained lying back against the seat, giving in to the exhaustion he felt. "Oh you got paralyzed how very, very sad." He quoted raising his voice to a falsetto tone. "Oh you were burned terrible, terrible." He said in a fluttering tone. Resuming his own tone he said, "However do you deal with shellshock? It's to ghastly."

"The whole war was grotesque," Sybil voiced. She had laid her head atop Patrick's shoulder, "I have not seen a single wound I can justify."

"Who wants to justify it?" Matthew questioned, hurriedly adding, "I am about done with wars."

"But we aren't," Sybil argued defiantly. "It is still everywhere. The wounds, the traumas, the uncertainty…. " Almost as a challenge she added pointedly, "Do you ever believe it will get back to where it was?"

"Where what was?" Matthew questioned tiredly, his head lolling back against the seat.

"To a time when every dinner party you do not feel as if the dead are still sitting around you, haunting the room, filling every spare seat." The question was rhetorical and it was reassuring that no one pretended to answer it, instead remaining silent the entire ride home.

**.~.~.~.~.**

Sara's comment about a new world without a son came from a diary entry from Carrie Kipling, Rudyard's wife. I thought it summed up so well what it would feel like to see the world restructuring and moving on and realizing your child would not see any of it.

FYI- Richard, Rosamond, Isobel, Edith, Cora and a few others are back in the next chapter.


	13. Chapter 13

As always thanks for the always appreciated feedback. I do appreciate that people were open to the last chapter. This one is pretty matter of fact and features a pretty long M&M scene which sets up chapter 14. Reviews would be very, very much appreciated.

**.~.~.~.~.**

Domestic affairs had never been Lavinia's forte. Mrs. Swire had died when her daughter was barely five, well before she had the opportunity to skill her daughter in social graces. Reginald's elderly sister had moved in shortly after. The woman had given Lavinia much love, and helped mend her small heart. Sadly, though she had no real experience in running a household. The little she did know, she was not able to convey. So at sixteen when her aunt died Lavinia began running a household and even to her own eyes doing a poor job at the task.

Servants came and went, independent of their ability to work. Lavinia was soft hearted, and quick to believe any sob story a servant offered. As such the Swires were known for their kindliness even as their housekeeping was much dismissed. Good servants often left in frustration at the poor work of other servants. Lazy or inept servants remained well after it was clear they could not or would not do their tasks. The household meanwhile soldiered on as best it could, but it was never smooth or easy and there was always a sense of disarray at best and chaos at worst.

Such disarray was on display during a Saturday morning in late March. Neither Reginald nor Lavinia were really morning eaters so they had a small tray with only the very basic items each morning. Despite the limited items, Lavinia noted the honey was predictably absent. Forgetting the honey was a problem for her. The Swire breakfasts were eternally absent some needed item be it marmalade or honey, and the servants claimed it was because Lavinia never asked that it be set out.

Intellectually Lavinia realized that the servants were being unfair. However, she appreciated their poor living conditions and their bleak economic prospects and could never manage to confront them on their actions or lack thereof. Therefore the house existed in a kind of perpetual circus, with almost nothing exactly wrong, but nor was anything precisely as it ought to be. Had she visited the house, Lavinia decided, the indomitable Mrs. Hughes would have been rather aghast. As it was the small circle of guests they invited were generally far too polite to comment on the problem, or like Matthew Crawley seemed charmed by the odd careening of the household.

Still, at times Lavinia really did wish they could simply have some honey with the breakfast tray. She was about to ring for some when Reginald strolled in, the paper in his hands, a strained expression on his face even as he said cheerfully, "Good morning dearest dear."

"Morning Papa." She answered her mood instantly lightening in his presence. "Would you care for some tea?"

Shaking his head Reginald demurred explaining, "I had some brought up earlier. I have an errand to run this morning." Lavinia did not consider this unusual; she had long ago realized the life of a solicitor did not conform to workday norms. "You remember I am borrowing your car."

Lavinia smiled saying coyly, "I do remember. I do not understand, however, why you will not let me drive you where you need to go."

Reginald smiled answering, "There is no need for that. I can drive even if you seem loathe allowing me do so."

"I simply enjoy your company." Lavinia countered adding mischievously, "Are you sure you do not have a paramour you are keeping secret from me?"

Grinning shyly Reginald answered, "Why ever would I look for another when my best girl is here with me."

Glowing due to his praise, Lavinia asked, "Will you be home in time for luncheon?"

"Well before," He said giving her a reassuring smile, before turning and hurrying from the room. By the time he reached the front door his smile had vanished, and his expression hardened.

**.~.~.~.~.**

Reaching across the table, Patrick took the plate of scones that Rosamund had extended in his direction. They were seated in Rosamund's sunny breakfast room. Patrick had arrived unexpectedly only a few minutes before, behaving as if such arrivals were entirely normal and appropriate.

"I sense that you are vexed at me." Patrick declared in a relaxed tone suggesting that he felt little true concern about her feelings.

"Well you have been remiss in not visiting me." Rosamund stated with feigned indifference. "I shall assume it was simply a forgivable lapse in manners."

"Indeed," He agreed archly. Sometimes he felt discussions with Rosamund were akin to an Oscar Wilde play, lots of pithy dialogue covering up something slightly vulgar.

"Still," She said pouring herself some tea, "Arriving at my door wearing the tux and tail you undoubtedly wore the evening before, asking for breakfast… Well," Her tone turned critical and she angled her forehead accusing, "It does require a bit of cheek."

"And I have only a bit to spare." He chirped offering a half smile before retracting the muscles, which were protesting even that minor exertion. Even brief moments of jocularity meant untold moments of painful suffering. It tempered any good moment he might feel.

Rosamund studied him even as she acknowledged sourly, "I do not understand the humor of modern youth. Going to the theater is a half an intellectual exercise of late. Not to mention, I find that joke in the poorest of taste. James would be appalled."

"I do apologize." Patrick declared repressing his smile for only a moment, before allowing it to emerge again.

"Then again James did inherit the arch formality and over seriousness of the family line." Rosamund recalled feeling an uncomfortable realization that even now it was difficult to really remember James. Admittedly, he had been by far her least favorite cousin, and the sourest of men, still it saddened her how quickly the dead recede from memory. Nevertheless she said purposefully, "My niece telephoned me."

He reached for a blueberry scone, breaking it in half he said, "I assume you mean my fiancée. Sybil is busy healing the sick, and Cousin Mary is occupied with domestic affairs."

"I certainly do mean your fiancée." Rosamund agreed shaking her head slightly. "You have behaved abominably. Leaving that poor girl alone for weeks and weeks in the country, while you traipse about London staying out to all hours, spending hours and hours with your ex-fiancée…."

"Mary?" He voiced the name disbelievingly. "She Is married."

Rosamund narrowed her eyes, "I do not recall marriage vows being a hindrance before."

"Much has changed." He observed flatly, and Rosamund found herself uncertain if he was referring to his past, the war, his accident or all those events.

"Then my niece has no cause for concern?"

Patrick looked at the scone in his hand feeling its sogginess moistening his palm and fingers. "I have every intention of making Edith my countess."

Lifting the tea cup to her lips Rosamund suggested coolly, "It might do to sound a bit more cheerful when you say that."

Patrick eyed her, steely gazed his tone cold; "People of our sort do not marry for reasons of cheer or romance. My marriage will be no different."

"Are you quite certain your bride shares your mind set?"

Patrick shrugged suggesting, "Rejected by the first daughter, selected the second. She'd be a fool to think anything else."

**.~.~.~.~.**

The smell of fresh shaving cream and the scent of talcum powder seemed to drift across the steamy room giving the barber parlor a particular aroma, which Matthew found oddly pleasing. In his university days it had become his Saturday morning routine to get a shave and a cut and he had retained the habit in Manchester. However, prior to returning to London it had been some years since he had frequented such establishment. At Downton he had become accustomed to Mosely seeing to his shave and cuts. In the trenches he had little use to worry over such things. The infrequent times he did worry, William would give him a proficient shave and clipping. The boy had even assisted him in maintaining the moustache he had been forced to grow during his first years in service. Edwards he knew could easily do the same. Yet, the past few weekends he had gotten in the habit of coming to the barber parlor early Saturday mornings. It had felt like resuming up a kind of ritual with him, and Matthew found he clung to what rituals remained in such a changing world.

He had woken in the gray dawn his entire spine afire. He had heard of phantom pains. He had spent an endless night holding a soldier, who swore his legs were screaming, who begged the doctors to cut the legs off to end the pain. Only the soldier had no idea his legs were gone. Similarly, he retained vague memories of walking alongside Reginald when he was ministering to Boer War veterans, seeing men insist there was pain in places where the sheets dipped due owing to the absence of limbs. He therefore well understood phantom pain. However, understanding something and experiencing it were entirely different matters. Sitting waiting for his cut feeling slicing pain in his legs he grimaced in pain, even as he heard someone call his name.

Lowering his paper, Matthew called in greeting, "Reginald." Setting aside the newspaper he had been scanning, Matthew forced a smile trying to ignore the pain in his legs.

"May I join you?" Reginald Swire requested taking the chair next to Matthew. Without waiting for a response he said, "I am very glad to see you."

"Really." Matthew answered hoping his tone sounded one of surprise, rather than echoing the dubiousness he truly felt.

"I have wanted to contact you." Reginald's tone remained genial, yet sounded a dash rehearsed. "I understand you are working at Bauer, Spaulding, and Simon."

Matthew nodded, "I knew Peter Simon's son at university. He was kind enough to take me on."

"I doubt kindness has very much to do with it." Reginald avowed. "You are a fine solicitor. With the lack of young men in the profession at present they did well to enlist you." Matthew waited for the inevitable continuance. Solicitors used compliments as a means of lulling subjects before undermining them. " I was surprised however. As I understand they are doing less and less industrial work."

"The firm is handling fewer cases due to a shortage of solicitors. Many of the younger members…." Matthew let his explanation drop. "And I am glad to get any kind of experience… I did not expect that I would ever regain full employment again."

Reginald nodded saying, "I feared as much myself. I suppose you thought I ought to have been more helpful than I was."

"No." Matthew said empathetically and at least half honestly.

"Well I felt I should have. Only with Lavinia…"

"Yes." Matthew agreed seeming uneasy with the reminder. In her absence, Lavinia had receded in his mind. Matthew realized this suggested something quite callous about his nature, but he was unwilling to pursue just what that might suggest. "I suppose," He began however, before he was forced to make further comment however the barber walked over ushering Matthew into the interior of the shop.

**.~.~.~.~.**

"Lady Crawley!" Sir Anthony Strallen boomed rising when Mary entered the room.

Mary smiled, "I do apologize for causing you to wait."

"No matter," He answered hearing the front door close. "I do appreciate you seeing me." Mary smiled as he fumbled on saying, "As pleasant as it is however, I was hoping to see your husband as well."

"Matthew is only out on a short errand. If you would like to wait."

He shook his head saying, "No, no I would not dream of imposing on you."

"Imposing." Mary echoed easily, resuming the old training as natural as breathing. "We are old neighbors you could never impose." She ended her sentence with a smile, one of her governesses had drilled that skill with more enthusiasm than she expended teaching her charges their sums. "I am so very surprised to see you in London. I did not imagine very much could tempt you from your fields."

"Very little does." He admitted happily, he always felt at ease discussing his agricultural interests. "I had some final tasks involving my war service to conclude among other matters."

Sighing Mary shook her head, "Sometimes I fear the war will never end."

A rare look of circumspection crossed his face as Anthony admitted tiredly, "I fear it never will." He paused his mouth drooping slightly, "You of course do not remember my brother George. He fought the Boers with your father." He paused for a moment. "I… It never ends."

Sensing he did not wish to continue the discussion Mary said, "Does your work involve legal affairs. Is that why you need to see my husband?"

He shook his head, "No, no." He said softly his mind clearly somewhere else. "It was about something else, something more personal."

"Why don't you join us for dinner?" She suggested knowing Matthew would not mind. "You can talk then."

He regarded Mary with a warm smile intoning a bit fondly, "I am not so old to forget how well newlyweds enjoy evenings alone. I would not dare impose on your evening. Perhaps I could drop by tomorrow say two, after luncheon?"

Mary smiled finding herself feeling unusually fond of Sir Anthony. "That would be lovely. "

He smiled extending his hand, "Good day then, Lady Crawley." With a smile he released her hand and strode from the drawing room.

**.~.~.~.~.**

As the barber clipped away at his hair, Matthew stared doggedly at the floor tiles. How odd he realized that barber parlors and ice cream parlors generally had the same white and black checked tile design. Strange, he thought, that he had been in many barber parlors and even more ice cream parlors and had never noticed this odd similarity. While he was ruminating on this odd trait, Reginald was placed in the chair next to his. Oh he had remained in his chair, he would always remain there. The barber had merely rolled him beside the barber chair. Reginald had been placed in the black leather chair next to his. Matthew decided that he really had the absolute worst luck of any human he knew.

Either ignorant of or ignoring Matthew's discomfort, Reginald resumed speaking virtually the moment he was seated. "In case you are wondering Lavinia is doing quite well." He said stiffly.

"I am very glad to hear that." Matthew replied artificially. He realized with some discomfort that he really should have wondered about her welfare. "She is a wonderful girl." He blurted the words out hoping they sounded suitably concerned and respectful.

"You do know she is going to attend your sister-in-law's wedding."

"Yes," Matthew said continuing to focus determinedly at the floor tiles. "It should be quite the event of the season."

"You will of course attend."

"She is my sister-in-law as well as my cousin."

"Yes," Reginald agreed continuing by saying, "I did not mean to infer you should miss the event."

"Of course not." Matthew responded folding and unfolding his hands, a nervous gesture of which he was unaware.

Reginald took a breath before continuing, "I only mentioned it because I assume it will be the first time you two have met since your marriage. I do hope I am correct in presuming that."

"You are correct." Matthew said formally, uncomfortable at the accompanying suggestion. "I am a married man after all."

"I am rather grateful for that fact."

Matthew turned his upper body so as to face Reginald fully, "You are?" His barber stepped backward preparing the razor and cream for his shave.

"May I speak frankly Matthew?" He asked, seeing Matthew's curt nod he said, "I have known you for several years. I respected you as a young solicitor, and I certainly admire you as a man who stood up for the empire."

Matthew felt his mood souring. All the preambles and prefacing made him apprehensive of what would come next. "Go on."

"Having said all of that," Reginald persisted with a surprising seriousness, "I have no desire to see my daughter turned into a childless nursemaid." Matthew stared at him utterly gob smacked by his comments.

The barber stepped forward questioning, "Are you ready for your shave sir?"

"Yes." Matthew said his voice oddly level, "Quite ready." Truthfully, having a blade near his neck had never seemed quite so inviting.

**.~.~.~.~.**

"You do understand," Patrick said sipping his tea, "It is not that I am not fond of Edith. She has been the only true support I have had since returning." He said his tone warming, "She's a grand girl. I think she will make a fine wife, a good countess. I cannot think of a reason in the world why I should not marry her."

Rosamund studied him intently for a moment before replying, "Perhaps then there are a good many reasons she should not marry you."

"I am certain there are very few." He countered adding before she could object, "You may think that statement unkind but it is not. I am a realistic man and the reality of the situation for girls of her sort is quite bleak." Setting his cup back on the saucer he continued, "Due to the war there will be less men. Ladies of Edith's generations are more likely to be Miss than Mrs."

Straightening her posture Rosamund spoke coldly insisting, "Are you forgetting Edith is the daughter of Lord Grantham and as such will bring a handsome dowry?" It was so clearly a rhetorical question that Patrick merely arched an eyebrow, allowing Rosamund the pleasure of continuing without interruption. "A place among the aristocracy, a handsome addition to one's bank account, such are the makings of powerful aphrodisiacs."

"Indeed," He agreed drawing his nails along the arm of the chair.

"That does not mean, I wish my niece to marry for unhappy reasons. Goodness knows marriage gives one reason enough to be miserable even with the best of husbands."

"Be careful Cousin," Patrick cautioned reaching for his tea cup, "You could frighten a prospective bridegroom."

"You have never struck me as the nervous sort."

The slightest of smiles touched Patrick's lips then vanished as he said, "I would not hurt her."

Rosamund considered him for a moment, shaking her head she surmised, "I am quite certain you would not intend to. " She agreed in an inscrutable tone as she said, "If you would is another matter. I wonder," Rosamund declared a cryptic expression on her voice and her tone detached, almost as if she was drifting away from the conversation. "Is your desire to marry Edith to protect her, to show gratitude for her loyalty? Or," She suggested clearly warming to her thoughts, "Is it yourself you are protecting?"

"Meaning."

"Meaning all this chatter about Edith's limited hopes and possibilities… is it Edith you are concerned for or yourself?" She did not pause before adding with increasing seriousness, "War wounded, physical and mental injuries, amnesia… Perhaps Edith may find a better prospect, but will you?"

Patrick eyed her over the lip of his raised tea cup. "That," He said neutrally; "Is a very interesting question."

**.~.~.~.~.**

Matthew felt the cool of the shaving cream being scraped aside by the dulled edge of the blade. Since his injury he had found himself supremely aware of the feel of things. Whereas he had previously noted the razor only when he nicked himself, now he noted every bit of it… The Palmolive cream, cooling and refreshing, cast aside by an razor, so much more refreshing than the Ever Ready he had used rather ineffectively during the war. New world, old razor he thought bemusedly.

"You think me cruel," Reginald stated disrupting Matthew's thoughts.

Glancing around Matthew saw the salon was empty save them and one other figure whose face was covered by a towel. He desperately wished the establishment was full discouraging the type of candid confession Reginald seemed to crave. "Aren't men to talk of politics and cricket in these establishments?" Matthew asked lamely wishing to transition the discussion to a more genial topic.

"I favor Bonar Law, but I suspect post war you are a Lloyd George man." Reginald predicted with startling insight. "And I only know who Harry Dean and Lawrence Cook are, because Lavinia took an interest in Lan County Cricket because she knew you fancied them."

Drumming his fingers against the arm rest Matthew demanded, "What precisely do you want to say, Reginald?"

"As much as I respect you I did not want my daughter locked into a life of nursing."

"I rather gathered that from what you said earlier," Matthew noted impatiently, somewhat grateful that the barber had finished his shave and was toweling off the remaining cream. "My legs are paralyzed, not my mind."

"That does not mean," He continued purposefully, "That I want to see you throw your life away." He saw Matthew draw his shoulders up and his countenance harden, "Be careful who you trust."

"What are you implying?" The hardness of the words was subdued slightly by the smallest sliver of curiosity.

"Nothing." Reginald said.

Matthew nodded as he reached into his pocket. Sorting the change in his hand he handed the exact coins to the barber. "Do not concern yourself about me." He said glancing at Reginald. "Despite my condition I am perfectly capable of caring for myself."

"Perhaps." Reginald said.

Putting his hands on his chair wheels Matthew called sharply, "Good day!" With a certain dexterity, he spun the chair.

Reginald watched Matthew roll onto the street and out of his line of sight. "That was very well played." A voice called from across the room.

Turning Reginald saw a familiar and quite despised face removing the towel that had concealed his identity. "It was repugnant." He swore angrily.

"Well my chap you said it not I." Richard Carlisle pointed out sitting up, handing the attendant his discarded towel.

"And you know why I said it."

"Indeed I do." Richard agreed adding, "And I know why you will say other things to Matthew Crawley in the future. But we needn't discuss such matters now." He said affably. "Once this chap finishes with me, will you join me for a drink? There is a decent pub down the street. I feel much like celebrating."

"I will not." Reginald replied turning and stalking across the shop, leaving a smiling Richard to his own company, which frankly pleased him very, very much. "Make certain you do not cut too much at the back." Richard instructed smiling at his reflection in the mirror. "I want to appear rakish not raked over."

**.~.~.~.~.**

The cab driver had been quite decent about helping Matthew out of the cab and into his wheelchair, when he dropped him in front of Grantham House. Matthew was glad as it was always a bother to have sit and wait and wait while the drivers summoned Edwards so he could be placed in his chair and go inside the house. As such he dispensed with the bell and simply opened the door and rolled inside. Hearing Mary's agitated tones swept aside his earlier emotions, agitated Mary always, always amused Matthew. The irritated tone she assumed generally led to some of her more choice barbs and comments. Peter Simon and his generation might have liked their ladies sweet, but Mary's caustic humor and intelligence had drawn Matthew like moth to flame.

"Yes, yes," Mary agreed obviously falsely. "Patrick and I are spending lovely hours together. We have always so relished spending hours in one another's company. Really Edith." Even with her back turned, Matthew could envision her rolling her eyes. She stood silently clearly listening, only the tension of her posture suggesting her displeasure with the conversation. "I can only assume to stay away from you." She snapped coldly. "Edith," Mary requested pleasantly, "Can you calculate the cost of this call and then send me a bill. Then everytime Patrick comes here to get away from you, I can write you a draft in the same amount so that you do not telephone." Unwilling to continue this inanity another instant, Mary slammed the receiver onto the hook.

"A pleasant chat with your sister." Matthew hypothesized wheeling himself into the foyer.

Feeling rather found out Mary spun around, "I did not hear you come in. How was your morning?"

"Interesting. " He stated obliquely. "What did Edith want?"

"What does Edith always want?" Mary asked answering her own question by explaining, "To irritate, annoy and in general make one exceedingly grateful for her absence. " Resting her hand against her forehead Mary requested, "Tonight during dinner can you regale me with stories of the paradise that is life as an only child?"

Matthew watched her with a kind of bemused concern. "Edwards," He said turning his head toward the butler who had crept into the hall a mere instant before, "Can we have tea in the library?"

Edwards nodded already turning, "Of course, Sir."

"Come along," Matthew suggested reaching down to clasp the wheels in his hands, "You can tell me all Edith has done to ruin your day."

In spite of herself Mary felt a smile tugging at the corner of her lips. Falling into step beside him, a position which she realized he favored, she said, "I am quite certain we can find far more pleasant matters to discuss."

Rolling himself into the library Matthew glanced at his desk, noticing a chair behind his desk. "Was someone in here?" His tone was more inquisitive than irritated.

"Oh yes," Mary answered distractedly. "I had to compose some letters. I came down to locate a pen and decided I could just as easily write them here. You do not mind, I hope."

"Of course not."

"I'll have Edwards move the chair."

Shaking his head he replied, "There is no need at present. I have quite enough of my profession for one day."

"I did not think that was possible." She said drolly.

Matthew glanced up, but his mood relaxed at the gentle smile on Mary's face. "Funny."

"Do you want to discuss it?"

Groaning Matthew said, "Not remotely. However, as it concerns you I suppose I must."

"Me?" Mary asked skeptically, "However am I a part of it? Is Richard…" She refused to finish the thought, even as the ever threatening frisson of fear began flooding her body.

"No, no." Matthew said hastily, not wanting her to worry about that. "It's Lavinia."

Mary ignored the urge to repeat the name saying only, "Oh."

He waited for her follow up question but none came. At length he said, "Reginald wanted to discuss Lavinia."

"l hardly thought he wanted to discuss the spring fashions."

Matthew unthinkingly parried her comment offering, "He might well have wished to discuss exciting legal cases."

Mary smiled saying, "Exciting legal cases. Really Matthew even you do not believe that."

"I suppose not." He agreed grateful she had injected a moment of levity in the uncomfortable situation. Lavinia had never done that, he felt guilty even as he realized for the hundredth time how poorly Lavinia would have suited him. Even as he was now, he would have been forever yearning for his old bantering partner.

"Is he upset with you due to your breaking things off with Lavinia." She phrased as a question, what she feared as factual.

"Yes, absolutely." Matthew intoned sarcasm dripping from his words. "He wanted nothing more than a paralyzed imp…. incapable of siring children man to wed his only daughter. "

Mary frowned shaking her head as she said, "Matthew, you know I cannot stand you referring to yourself in that manner."

Her tone was fretful rather than chiding, and did remind him that indeed they had discussed this several times before. Mary had asked for so little, and yet he had been incapable of giving her even that. "However, you see me, my dear that is how the world will forever view me." It was a reminder as much as a justification.

"I do not accept that." Mary stated defiantly. "And Matthew you know I always get my own way." Sighing she said, "But that's a discussion for another time. Do tell me what Mr. Swire wanted."

Matthew shrugged admitting, "I am not certain really." Forestalling her certain to come follow up questions he added, "He is rightly concerned about her decision to attend your sister's wedding."

Mary contemplated this saying, "I imagine he is…"

"But he seemed determined to make a kind of statement to me. A warning of a sort," he finished perplexedly. The further he got from the actual conversation the more puzzling he found the entire situation.

Mary arched a single brow questioning, "What kind of warning?"

"I am not certain." He admitted adding thoughtfully, "The problem is…. It all felt so inauthentic. "Seeing her unasked questioned he explained, "I know Reginald well enough to know he was not being entirely honest with me. However," He said very much the barrister concluding his remarks. "I do not know him quite well enough to know what he was up to."

Mary paused and considered his mood and features. Deciding he was invigorated rather than concerned she offered, "I suppose we shall wait and see."

"I suppose." He agreed proffering a rare smile. "Let's talk of more pleasant things," He suggested smiling. "What are your plans for the rest of the day?"

"I have none, you?"

He shrugged easily, "After luncheon I'd like to sit in the garden. Being shut up in the office all week makes me miss Yorkshire a bit."

"I feel the same. I love our life here, but sometimes I do miss the the trees, the landscape. I suppose our garden will have to substitute."

"Yes." He agreed catching the subtle way she now referred to the house, the grounds, all the possessions as ours.

"So after luncheon we'll retire to the garden for a bit, is that agreeable?" He nodded, making no comment. "Oh," Mary stated suddenly, startled as if just remembering something. "Your mother telephoned."

Matthew looked up, "Anything the matter?"

"Oh no. She only said she will come to luncheon tomorrow, instead of tonight."

Frowning perplexedly Matthew said, "But she always comes to dinner on Saturday or has…since we've been married."

Mary smiled; Matthew was really a terrible creature of habit, saying consolingly, "Well perhaps she made other plans."

"Of course, of course." Matthew agreed, playing it off as if he was not as disturbed as he actually felt. "Patrick said he and Sybil were planning to go off to a party tonight, as well."

"Sybil and Patrick are always going to a party."

"You could go with them." Matthew offered encouragingly.

"I would hardly fit in with those sort of people." Mary scoffed at the idea saying, "I am too liberal for Papa and Mama and too conservative for Sybil."

Matthew pondered her words saying bemusedly, "I suppose you are stuck with me this evening then."

"Only the pair of us for an entire evening." Mary feigned shock continuing, "Well that will certainly be a pleasant change. We so rarely are alone together."

Matthew smiled bashfully, "Well it will be different." Suddenly he looked up saying ,"Oh yes, I almost forgot. " He said removing a oval object wrapped in brown paper. "I bought this for you…us on the way home."

He extended his arm and Mary took the package replying teasingly, "Whatever can it be?" She said as if the shape did not give the gift away.

"Strauss!" Mary exclaimed conveying her excitement with a bright smile. "Wherever did you find it?"

"A shop in town." He replied off handedly, "I suppose its now acceptable to like Strauss again."

"The war really must be over then."

A wry expression crossed Matthew's face as he said, "Yes now we can stop hating Germans and buy their music again." His voice suggested he found no triumph in this alteration. "One year we hate them and their composers, kill them. The next everything has altered back. So terribly pointless."

Mary laid a hand on his shoulder, "I am going to speak to Cook. Since its only us I think we'll luncheon informally. Soup and a sandwich, you don't eat much anyway."

"As if you do." He teased sounding a bit lighter in mood.

"I'll have Edwards move the gramophone in the dining room, if you don't object." She was learning that when Matthew drifted into these moods it was best not to address them and instead shift matters to a more pleasant topic.

"I think that would be…" Before he could finish the sentence, she watched his mouth twist and his eyes close, open and then close again. The color drained from his face as he sighed loudly as if expelling something distasteful from his corpus.

"Matthew?" She cried, instantly crouching down beside him laying her hand alongside his forehead. "Darling?"

"I am quite…alright." He responded through clenched teeth, the tension in his face suggesting otherwise. "Carlill v Carbolic Smoke Ball Company," He said forcing the words out. "Clarke v The Earl of Dunraven and Mount-Earl, The 'Satanita', Corelli v. Grey, Walter v Lane. Contract law cases." He explained, "Mother taught me to do this… Distracts from the pain."

"I remember." She said continuing to massage his shoulder lightly.

He took a final cleansing breath, "Better now." He promised his facial muscles relaxing but slightly.

"Should I have Edwards fetch you a draft?"

He shook his head. "No, no I'm fine. Perfectly fine."

Mary's expression suggested she did not entirely believe him. Still, she said determinedly, "I will just go speak to Cook and then I will come right back. Then we can read until luncheon." She lifted the newspaper from the table extending it to him, "Read this until I get back." She said walking toward the door, she turned and took one last look back before disappearing down the hall.

Matthew released a breath when she left, only then allowing his hand to massage his screaming legs and his face again returning to a mask of agony.

**.~.~.~.~.**

Le Bourgeois Gentilhomme was the Richard Strauss album Matthew bought.


	14. Chapter 14

Apologies for the length between chapters. This chapter was supposed to be short and easy, it ended up anything but. Many thanks for the alerts and reviews. Please do drop me a line and let me know what you think of this chapter.

**.~.~.~.~.**

"Ugh!" Mary cried coming awake with a shake, a vague sense of nausea creeping up her throat. Shaking her head she tried to dislodge the images that had haunted her dreams. Of course it would be just her luck to have a dream about Edith. And while a dream about Edith would be bad enough, but no it had to be a dream about Edith having intimacies with a local farmer. Mary shuddered at the mere idea. Of course, she thought despairingly, it was Edith after all. Only she would believe having extra martial relations with a poor farmer was just the very thing. The dream was just too ridiculous. Even poor farmers were not that desperate. Continuing to shake her head at the memory she wondered if she needed a wash, to scrub the awful images away. As she sat pondering and frankly obsessing over the dream; she detected a low ohhhhhhhh from beyond the door. Hearing it she felt an odd certainty that it was the sound that had thankfully dragged her from her dreams.

Sitting up, straining to hear a sound, any sound, she heard nothing beyond the yawning sounds of the household. London never had the nightly silence she associated with Yorkshire. Even at this hour she could hear the faint echoes of traffic, and if she went to her window she had no doubt she would see a few souls staggering about returning from a late London excursion. Still the odd sound did not recur. Indeed, several long minutes passed with only the ticking of her bedside clock violating the silence of the night. Resting her head on the pillow, she convinced herself the sound was merely her subconscious protesting at such a vile dream. Really it was all Edith's fault, telephoning her and upsetting her, she decided angrily. She would have to ask Gwen if there was a way one could subvert unwelcome calls. Perhaps the company could design a special ring, like the clanging of a fire brigade to forewarn her of Edith's presence on the other end of the telephone wire. As she was pondering such an invention and its great necessity, she heard a groan sounded followed by a bitter, "Damn!" The voice was instantly familiar and the word so atypical that she was pushing the sheets back even as he uttered it.

Not bothering with slippers, Mary put foot to floor and hurried toward the dressing room. Throwing the door open, she gasped at the sight before her shrieking, "Matthew!" Clapping her hand against her mouth, she stared at the sight of her husband sprawled across the floor, his legs clearly shaking entirely independent of his volition.

"Help me." Matthew pleaded clearly exhausted and spent. His sweat stained pajama top and glistening brow gave evidence to his agony.

"My darling!" Mary cried crouching down beside him. She really had no idea what to do. "SYBIL!" She called loudly. Her sister was a true night owl, and by this time, though she really had no idea what time it was, she should be home. Besides, Sybil was forever prattling on about how her vocation demanded that a light sleeper and how she was so ideally suited for that. "SYBIL!" Mary beckoned again. Trying to calm herself she asked Matthew, "What happened?"

"I woke up," He explained tightly, manifestly still in enormous pain though his legs seemed to be stilling. "This was happening."

"It happened earlier." Mary observed resignedly giving a slight huff of frustration, "During dinner." Noticing his upraised glance and startled expression she admitted exasperatedly, "I saw it tonight, I saw it this afternoon, I saw it the other day."

"You never said…" He stopped, moaning in protest as his legs began shaking anew.

"I did not want to row with you." She snapped angrily, she was furious but not with him, with herself. She had placed desiring Matthew's good humor over her duty to ensure his wellbeing. "Let's not discuss that now." She demanded unable to instantly dismiss her self-frustration, rising up she said, "Why didn't you ring for Edwards?" She did not bother asking why he had not called for her, she knew that answer.

"I could not reach the bell." He admitted irritably, glancing over she saw the bedside bureau blocking the bell cord. That would have to be rearranged.

Crossing the few steps to the bell cord she yanked it three times, hoping the footman sleeping in the hall would hear the noise. "How many times have your legs done that?"

Matthew frowned before saying, "On and off all day."

"You need a doctor." She was talking as much for herself as him.

"I am not disturbing a doctor at this hour."

Frowning Mary angrily declared, "If a doctor does not want to be disturbed, then he should have chosen a different profession."

Edwards hurried into the room, "Is there a problem Milady?"

Mary decided that it must require a great deal of training to ignore a man shuddering on the floor to ask a question with that level of diplomacy. In as poised a tone as she imagined possible Mary instructed, "First I'd like to get my husband moved. Then I want you to summon Dr. Baker."

The butler nodded stating, "Very good. Shall I return you to the bed Mr. Crawley?"

"Absolutely not." Mary answered decisively, pointedly ignoring that the question had not been directed at her. "Move him to my room. That will be easier for the doctor." She was quiet certain the doctor would not care, but it was a handy excuse, and besides the light really was better in that room.

"I am perfectly fine here." Matthew insisted hissing as a wave of pain overtook him.

"Carry him to my bed." She ordered brokering no argument. Matthew was about to protest when another wave of pain overwhelmed him. Recognizing his suffering Mary instructed Edwards forcefully, "Now."

Crouching Edwards reached under Matthew's back lifting him as if cradling a small babe. "AHHHHHHHHHHH!" Matthew screamed at the mere movement. Quieting his voice he bit into his lower lip as a means of offsetting the pain. The agony was acute, so much so that by the time Edwards lowered him to Mary's bed a thin stream of blood was trailing down Matthew's chin.

"Very good, Sir," Edwards declared, pulling the sheets up, covering Matthew's waist. Matthew suddenly groaned clenching the sheets as jolt after jolt of pain shot down his spine and limbs. Pressing his neck deeply into the pillow, Matthew tried to let the cool of the sheet calm him, as if the hot shots of electricity surging through his legs could be stilled by the coolness of finely threaded Egyptian cotton.

**.~.~.~.~.**

Following Edwards into the hall, Mary left the door ajar so she could hear if Matthew required assistance. Lowering her tone Mary began instructing Edwards albeit in the lowest of tones. "When you telephone Dr. Baker and tell him he must come at once. And please have one of the maids wake Sybil, and tell her I require her assistance."

"Lady Sybil has not returned."

"Of course," Mary replied. Edward**s** observed the frisson of tension in her voice in regards to Lady Sybil, it was unusual enough, he could not fail to note it. "As soon as she returns please have her come up right away."

"Of course." He responded turning on his heel and hurrying down the stairs.

**.~.~.~.~.**

Lingering by the closed door, Mary paused needing a moment to marshal her thoughts. At length, she took a breath, then feeling more slightly more prepared she twisted the knob, pushing the door open. Walking purposefully in to the room she tried for an optimistic tone announcing, "Edwards has gone to summon the doctor."

"Yes I heard that." Matthew agreed, adding crabbily, "I'm paralyzed not deaf."

"You are also exceedingly ill tempered." Mary noted walking toward his dressing area. "Where do you keep your night clothing?"

Her question was so matter of fact, that he found himself answering instantly; "Top drawer bureau." However the oddness of the query quickly struck him leading him to demand, "Why?"

"Those are soaked." She stated crossing over to his dressing room, and opening the named drawer. Rifling through the contents she observed that the perfectly lovely pair of dark blue pajamas she had given him were still in their wrapping. Meanwhile, his older and slightly worn pajamas were clearly still being used. Typical, she thought and terribly middle class, hanging on to old bits and bobs. Ignoring her own inclination, she selected an atrocious and well-worn pair of green and white stripped of which Matthew was unaccountably fond, toting them into the next room. Really the sacrifices she made for Matthew, she thought crossly.

"What are you doing?" Matthew barked crossing his arms over his chest. The appearance was more comedic than intimidating; however Mary kept that thought to herself as she was rather certain Matthew would not share her amusement.

"I am," She explained hurrying back into the bedroom, "Bringing you a fresh pair of pajamas."

Trying to work out why Mary was carting his pajamas around, Matthew frowned exclaiming, "Do you proceed to go treating me like an infant!" He noted even as he spoke, she was placing his pajamas at the foot of his bed. "You know very well I cannot reach them there."

"Oh do pipe down." Mary ordered strolling out of the room and down the hall, past Sybil's rooms, and into the upstairs bath. Even down the hall, she could vaguely hear her husband fussing and turned the tap further increasing the spray and drowning him out. Determined to focus on her task, she reached into the closet removing a cloth and towel. Unfolding the small cloth she ran it under the cold water. Twisting the faucet to the off position, she twisted the cloth wringing all the excess water from the fabric. That completed, she retraced her steps entering the room to find Matthew continuing to bluster, scowling hostility at his wife.

"What do you intend to do with those things?" He demanded angrily.

Mary rolled her eyes despairingly. She was trying to maintain a certain sympathy for Matthew's pain and his accompanying loss of self-control, however Matthew sounded not unlike Sybil at age four having a tantrum. She was torn between a desire to laugh at his childish antics, and an equally ferocious desire to stalk off to another part of the house to wait until he could act sensibly. Neither action appealed to her however, not when she remained so desperately concerned for his health. "I am going to clean you up and change you."

"Change me!" He bellowed drawing himself upwards. "You certainly will not change me."

"Of course I will!" She roared back defiantly. Really her husband could be so vexing at times. "And please stop playing the role of innocent maiden. I was your nurse." She replied matter of factly. "And I am your wife."

"You certainly did not change me." He frowned and shook his head seemingly disgusted by the mere notion.

Fixing him with a perplexed expression Mary stated coldly, "Matthew I fear sometimes that you have suffered periods of amnesia." Locking her eyes directly into his she said, "I assisted Sybil with changing you from the moment of your arrival until….you got a little better."

"I am not even the slightest bit better." Matthew snapped, but his voice softened as he said, "I did not know that… That you did that."

"Lavinia was not your only nurse."

"Well of course not." He said looking off into the distance as if uncomfortable. "I knew…"

"Did you?" Mary asked curiously, "You certainly never said…"

Matthew was about to respond, when his legs began shaking again and he threw his head back as the pain coursed through his spine and legs. "God!"

Instinctively Mary reached over clasping his hand. "Carlill versus…." Mary prompted feeling an odd gratitude that the odd term had lingered in her mind.

"Carbolic Smoke Ball Company," He answered sighing deeply letting the breath travel down the length of his body vainly attempting to withstand the pain.

"The spasms seem shorter." Mary suggested hopefully. Truthfully, she had no notion if this was true or not. She only wished the notion might cheer Matthew, or at the very least calm him.

He nodded assenting, "Perhaps we should not have troubled Baker." The fact he said that, while sweating profusely in obvious pain, said something about Matthew's stubbornness.

It was fortunate Mary decided that she was a strong willed woman. She smiled noting, "You will not get me to agree to that."

Matthew laughed, a hard pain filled laugh, "What can he do Mary? My legs are useless." Tempering his tone somewhat he added more gently, "I have seen men without limbs undergoing this type of pain. There is nothing to be done."

"It is 1920," She declared firmly. "I refuse to believe that nothing can be done to stop this sort of pain."

Eyeing her, Matthew remarked in a puzzling tone, "You are an enigma my dear, sarcastic and negative on the outside, optimistic and soft on the inside. I fear I will never quite figure you out."

"Well," Mary said touching the rag to his forehead, mopping up the beads of sweat located atop his skin. "You will have years and years to figure me out. Now," She instructed firmly, "Unbutton your pajama top." At his widened gaze she explained, "I am not having my nursing skills questioned due to a perspiring husband."

Matthew looked about to object before silently lifting his hand and reaching to undo the top button on his top.

**.~.~.~.~.**

"An urgent situation in Lady Mary's bedroom?" Patrick drawled seemingly fascinated. He and Sybil barely had an opportunity to step inside the door, before Edwards approached them rattling off information.

"It involves Mr. Crawley's health, a doctor has been summoned." Edwards pronounced in a clipped tone despite his formality his words were brusque. Edwards like Carson, seemed a trace bloodless to Patrick, slightly drained of the blood the rest of the human race carted around. Still, tonight Patrick thought him closer to an actual human. Edwards' concern for Matthew overriding his typical reserve, Carson might have thought this a bad state, Patrick considered it a good tendency.

Moved by Edward's concern, Patrick's demeanor instantly altered, "Sybil perhaps you should…"

"Yes," She agreed her mind shifting to what most needed to be done. "Edwards come with me. Patrick you stay down here and let Dr. Baker in." He nodded and turned watching them hurriedly climb the stairs.

**.~.~.~.~.**

Hurrying Sybil climbed the final step, entering the darkly paneled narrow upstairs hallway. Grantham House had many things to recommend it; a smart address, a morning room that had a lovely view of the street, a surprisingly attractive garden. Yet its upstairs hall was shockingly narrow and virtually unlit. As a four year old Sybil remembered trailing behind her taller sisters, hanging on to their skirts, fearing they would hurry ahead and leave her moored in the shadowy, scary hall. Hurrying through the corridor Sybil remembered that fear, heard it echoed in Matthew's shouting which burst through the walls, whooshing toward her like an emotional storm. His hoarse voice conveyed a primal fear that made her feel that old instinctive urge to reach ahead and grab for the soft fabric of her sister's dresses.

As if summoned she saw Mary stepping from the hall. And Sybil experienced such a moment of puzzlement, half expecting a stick like 8 year old instead of the willowy adult striding before her.

"Where have you been?" Mary's tone seemed equal parts cross and concerned.

"At a party," Sybil answered vaguely, adding, "That doesn't matter. What happened?"

"It might very well matter," Mary barked knowing her anger was borne of concern for Matthew's pain rather than irritation with her sister. Still she had begun to find Sybil's behavior troubling. And she had a feeling Mama would not be pleased to know the sort of hours Mary was allowing her sister to keep. Never the less, she kept her focus on Matthew explaining, "He's in pain, terrible pain." Sybil reached for the door causing Mary to put her hand over the knob. "He has been having spasms in his legs for a few days."

"Spasms." Sybil repeated the word thoughtfully, "Not just pain, spasms?" She questioned. "Physical spasms?"

"Spasms." Mary clarified entreating, "Does that matter?"

"It could." Sybil granted grudgingly, but quickly added, "But it might not. Best to be clear."

"That is a non-answer if I ever heard one." Mary for all her complexities was a profoundly practical person. She assumed medical professionals were the same. The war had begun schooling her in the truth, medicine existed in a kind of netherworld where something might well mean something quite serious, or conversely nothing at all. Sybil seemed to embrace that ambiguity; her words were becoming evasive and ill-defined.

"I noticed he was in some distress when I checked on him last night around one." Sybil said as if resuming a conversation only she was following the trail of…

"He was." Mary acknowledged in some surprise, however her thought was interrupted as she processed Sybil's comment. "You checked on him? Was he calling out then?"

"Oh no." Sybil replied reassuringly. "I always check on Matthew before I go to bed."

"What?" Mary questioned looking decidedly unpleased by this notion. "Why?"

"You sleep through everything." Sybil stated shrugging her shoulders in a matter of fact fashion. "Best to ensure he has what he needs and is resting comfortably." Mary considered objecting, but realizing she had slept through Matthew crying for help, she realized she had little grounds for such feelings. "Have you informed Matthew's doctor?"

Shaking her head Mary acceded, "I suppose I simply expected it to go away. Stupid," She muttered clearly frustrated at her actions.

"Understandable," Sybil soothed even as her attention was clearly elsewhere.

"MARY," Matthew's voice beckoned through the wall, like the plaintive cry of a terrified newborn. The two sisters shared an instantaneous concerned expression, even as Mary turned and rushed in to the room.

**.~.~.~.~.**

Hurrying into the room, Sybil slipped into the role of a medical professional. Regardless of her title, nurse or physician, she felt it important to behave in a fashion that inspired confidence, even if she did not necessarily have the same confidence in herself. Surveying the room, she saw that Matthew was digging his fingernails into the mattress, and arching his body as the waves of pain assaulted him anew. A slight grunt of pain escaped his lips, as he closed his eyes.

Oddly and illogically, the orchestra of pain playing out before her served to calm Sybil. During the war she had realized that in moments of panic, she fell into a calm. Crisis upended others, it marshaled her resources allowing her to focus on the narrowness of the situation. Such a trait left her well suited for crisis's of any sort. Striding toward the bed her purpose increasing with each step she forced a smile saying reassuringly, "Matthew you are going to be perfectly fine."

"Sybil," He said giving her a tired smile. "I am so glad you are here." He took in a deep breath, releasing it slowly.

"The doctor will be here shortly and we will get this sorted." She promised giving him another bolstering smile.

Matthew opened then closed his eyes still clearly in enormous pain. Mary walked to the other side of the bed and seated herself on the corner of the mattress, barely listening to their conversation. Matthew and Sybil's odd dynamic rather confounded Mary, and instead of wasting a great deal of energy trying to sort it out, she generally treated their interactions as akin to the intermission at the theater, and as such afforded it only dozing attention.

Sybil certainly seemed to have a litany of questions and she went about asking them with a surprising amount of interest. Mary learned that Matthew did not have a headache, he was not dizzy, he did not feel nauseous any longer, his ears did not hurt nor had they popped. Mary could not imagine how any of this was relevant to his current situation, but she trusted her sister's logic.

"Well," Sybil announced hopefully, "I am sure it is nothing serious."

Matthew threw a superior glance at his wife. "I did not want the doctor summoned." He stated obstinately. "These are just phantom pains."

"Only a doctor can say that for certain." Sybil cautioned fixing him with a fond smile.

Matthew shrugged as if accepting her words, and Mary wondered why her sister alone could coax docility from her husband.

**.~.~.~.~.**

Left alone in the silent foyer, Patrick had drifted to the stairs. According to Robert he had been in and out of this house for most of his life. The vase on the table, the newel just alongside his head, the heavy carpet; all the bric-à-brac, every piece a thing he had seen hundreds of times. Yet, no matter how hard he peered he could remember not a scrap of it. Months and months at Downton, now weeks and weeks here and still….nothing….

When he'd awoken in the hospital, every bit of his body feeling afire, the past had been shadowy, his memories fragmentary. The doctors had assured him things would solidify, his memories would become clearer. Yet, the past remained stubbornly opaque. Still he peered on, hoping if only looked long enough he would remember something.

The ball jarred him from such thoughts and he rose, quickly crossing the room and opening the door. Dr. Baker walked into the entry, passing Patrick in the dark foyer, muttering, "I do hope this case is serious enough to…" His words were lost as Patrick closed the door. Jogging ahead to where the doctor was removing his coat, he heard Baker stating as he thrust his coat toward him, "Despite what some may believe doctors have professional hours. House calls should be emergencies."

"I am certain this more than applies." Patrick assured him coldly.

"Oh Mr. Crawley!" The doctor pronounced his tone altering utterly, as he looked up, realizing he was speaking to a future Lord. "I was not aware it was you opening the door." He quickly withdrew his coat, letting it drop to his side.

"You thought I was a servant?" Patrick used the put upon voice Mary employed when she felt in slighted. The entitled aristocratic tone she could pull out so effortlessly, and which felt foreign to his tongue. He also realized Lady Mary would never have lowered herself to hurry to open a door. Yet to do so felt natural to him….Oh it was all to confounding and not at all important at this moment. No better to focus on Matthew.

"Well," The doctor prattled uneasily, coaching his apology in the guise of a justification. "Servants can be a bit loose with the term urgent. Minor conditions can be spoken of as medical crisis."

Sizing the man up, Patrick decided he was 60 if he was a day, and had most likely spent the war running his London practice. Pity really a few months on the front might have done much for his professionalism. In the service the doctors had developed a necessary empathy. Baker reminded him of an old git he had known in Toronto. He had whined because the boarding house landlady's birth interrupted his cribbage match. He heard the fellow bit it at Passchendaele, cribbage a distant memory most likely.

Still, Baker clearly came from a class perspective, and Patrick thought it best to work to that angle, as such he said smoothly, "I am certain Lord Grantham will appreciate any assistance you may provide his son-in-law." He was also certain that he would telephone Robert first thing in the morning and inform him he needed a new physician. "Second room to the left upstairs," He directed not wanting to waste another second with the man. Baker nodded and climbed the stairs. "Prat!" Patrick cursed just under his breath.

**.~.~.~.~.**

"Good evening," Dr. Baker called entering the bedroom trailing Sybil, who had stepped to the door after hearing the bell. Edwards arrived just behind them with towels and a basin of water. "Very good, very good." Baker mumbled catching sight of the basin and the towels. Glancing upwards he smiled brightly stating, "Lady Mary I have not had the pleasure of seeing you since you had tonsillitis. Or you Lady Sybil since you cut your leg."

"I still have that scar." Sybil announced unable to stifle the comment. She did not add she had seen doctors' operating for entire nights who had sewed straighter stiches than Baker.

"I understand you are in a little pain this evening, Mr. Crawley." The doctor said depositing his bag atop the nightstand. "How long have you been filling ill?"

"Several days." Sybil interjected quickly.

"And you did not come in to my practice." Matthew opened his mouth to respond, however he suddenly closed his eyes as his legs began bucking. Baker quickly moved to the bed, as did Sybil both their hand's moving to rest atop his legs. "This is spontaneous?"

"I am paralyzed." Matthew replied his tone and facial expression terse and unhappy. His legs had grown still again, and he felt spent from the spasms and the doctor's idiotic question.

"He is not manifesting any signs of nausea, vomiting, headache, dizziness." Sybil recounted, Dr. Baker nodded but offered no answer. "I have never seen a case of phantom pain accompanied by spasms."

"You are very young." Baker said. "When you reach my age you may have seen many a thing that is not written in textbooks."

"So you have seen such a thing?" Sybil pressed, aware his experience was far greater than her own.

"I have seen a great many things." He said firmly. "For the present I would like to examine the patient. Afterward we can discuss my experiences and expertise." He said. Turning he said amiably, "Lady Mary, perhaps you would prefer to wait outside."

Glaring at the doctor Mary said icily, "I would prefer to remain with my husband."

Baker smiled thinly demurring, "That is not done. Medical issues are not the proper sphere for delicate female sensibilities."

"During the war our home was transformed into a convalesce home for wounded soldiers." Mary stated matter of factly, "Owing to that fact my delicate feminine sensibilities were utterly shattered."

Baker's face flushed as he rejected the notion explaining, "War forces certain behaviors…" The doctor said forcefully. "But that is over now…"

Reaching up Matthew clasped Mary's hand, "My delicate masculine sensibilities would feel far better if my wife remained at my side during this examination."

Flashing a triumphant grin at the doctor, Mary took a seat on the mattress beside Matthew. Watching as Baker examined and maneuvered Matthew's legs, Mary rubbed her thumb along the inside of Matthew's hand offering whatever comfort she could provide. All the while, Matthew turned his head to face the wall, fixing his gaze on the fireplace.

"Can you feel anything?" Baker asked not unkindly. He had asked the same question no less than a dozen times already.

"No." Matthew replied softly.

"Beg pardon?"

"No." Matthew repeated forcefully. Apologetically he added, "No, nothing."

Nodding Baker silently pulled the sheet up to cover Matthew's waist. "I will give you an injection. That should stop the spasms."

Matthew turned his head replying automatically and utterly disinterestedly, "Thank you."

"Do you know what is causing the spasms?" Mary questioned, seeing her sister was being deliberately silent.

Baker glanced over at her answering non-committedly, "I am afraid not. The human body is a mysterious object. There are so many processes and aliments and so little we can know."

"Will he have these in the future?" Sybil asked adjusting Matthew's pillow.

"The spasms," He asked. Mary thought the question unnecessary. He was merely making time to contemplate an answer. "One cannot say with any real certainty."

"But if his legs are paralyzed why are they moving?"

"Lady Mary," Baker responded with pained seriousness as if speaking to a very small, very dim girl. "You must understand even a paralyzed individual can suffer spasms."

"I understand that very well." Mary acquiesced even as she countered. "However I also understand that my husband suffered infrequent spasms until a week ago. I merely wish to understand what has caused an increase in both the number of spasms and the level of pain."

Baker faced her mutely clearly considering what best to say. When he spoke he said only, "I imagine a great many doctors would like such answers." After a moment he added, "Lady Sybil if you could assist me in turning Mr. Crawley we can give him an injection and hopefully relieve the spams."

**.~.~.~.~.**

After administering the injection, Baker stepped out to wash. Mary wordlessly sat continuing to stroke the back of Matthew's wrist, Sybil busied herself across the room. Matthew remained silent, his gaze fixed on the wall.

Baker returned to the room drying his hand on a towel. A few droplets of water dripped off his fingernails falling to the carpet, even as he rubbed others away. He continued to rub his hands against the towel, finally clearing his throat before stating, "The injection will reduce the spasms. I am also having your footman go to the chemist for a draught." He took a deep breath, a gesture which struck Sybil as more theatrical than genuine. "Perhaps we could have a chat about things… Now," He said waving his hand slightly, "I know we have only just met. And I can only imagine how you must feel." He continued his tone unchanged. "That said I've found it does help to deal honestly with such matters. Deluding yourself will only serve to heighten the difficulty of accepting the way matters truly are."

Matthew stared at Mary's and his intertwined hands. He looked at the sheets. He looked at the walls. He looked everywhere but at the doctor.

"As painful as it is, as difficult as it may be," The doctor continued tonelessly. "You have to accept that your past is your past. You must come to terms with the reality you will never walk again." For the first time he glanced over at his patient. "Do you understand my meaning Mr. Crawley?"

"I understand." Matthew said and it was the saddest, most defeated sentence Mary had ever heard. Mary found his hand wanting to convey her support, but his fingers lay limply against hers, as if all strength had been sapped out of his body.

**.~.~.~.~.**

Stepping back inside the room, Mary palmed the door letting it slam shut. "If that is the way that man speaks to patients, I am astonished he has any business at all."

"He is only speaking the truth." Matthew answered, his eyes determinedly focused on the sheets.

"He was cruel and callous and showed no regard for your suffering." Mary countered adding, "I will telephone Papa this morning and tell him how you were treated."

"Oh don't bother your father with this." Matthew insisted tiredly. "The man undoubtedly resents being woken from a sound sleep to nursemaid a cripple."

Mary raised an eyebrow declaring angrily, "That word!"

"Shall I use the phrase hypochondriac?" Matthew challenged seemingly bemused, albeit in a hard fashion. "The man clearly believes the pain is a symptom of my imagination." Matthew laughed a tired, cynical laugh that conveyed little surprise and a sense of wariness with the world. "Perfect now I'm a hypochondriac on top of being paralyzed. I am collecting symptoms like pearls."

"Matthew," Mary paused wanting to select her words particularly carefully. "You are not a hypochondriac. You are in pain."

"The injection will stop that." He said his voice cold and cynical. "And my legs will remain useless. Not unlike the rest of me."

Lowering herself to sit beside him on the mattress, Mary said, "Edwards is sending the footman to the chemists for the sleeping draught. So," She said determinedly, "At least the spasms will cease and you can get some rest."

"Wonderful," Matthew agreed with false enthusiasm. The pain had not lessened but his spirits had been brought so low, he had slogged into a sort of frustrated cynicism, whereby everything invited sharp remarks.

Reaching for his hand, Mary clasped it inside hers. Running her thumb over his knuckles, she promised, "We will find a specialist, someone who can properly treat you."

Matthew shook his head saying, "I do not see that it will make any difference."

"It makes a difference to me." Mary said softly, "I could not bear it if something happened to you." Matthew said nothing, but she felt his fingers slowly tighten around hers. It was closer to a caress than anything they had shared thus far in their marriage.

**.~.~.~.~.**

The draught took effect slowly. For a long half hour after he drank it, spasms continued to attack Matthew's legs. Gradually, however the spasms slowed and finally thankfully ceased. At length he realized with a limp gratitude that the pains he was fearfully awaiting, had for now stopped. And imperceptibly he felt his body easing into slumber. Reaching for Mary's hand he said uttering between yawns, "You should get some rest too, my dear….." She had changed back into her nightclothes and was sitting atop the mattress clad only in her nightdress, "Oh," He said as if remembering, "I should go to my room." Even half drugged his mind began working out details, a solicitor forever in search of a solution. "I can have Edwards help me."

"You are not going anywhere." Mary answered softly. As if needing to compile evidence she offered, "Your legs need rest."

He chuckles again saying in a slurred tone, "How many times must I remind you my legs are dead."

"But you are not. And you need rest." She whispered softly. "And you are staying in here where I can keep an eye on you." Eye on you, she used the word specifically wanting to suggest concern not caretaking. "I'll sleep in the chair…" She said glancing over at an overstuffed blue chair where she often wiled away hours reading.

"I am too tired to argue. " Matthew admitted his eyes feeling heavier, it was becoming an effort merely to keep them open. "But you are not going to sleep in the chair." He avowed decidedly, "You can sleep here…if it would not disturb you." Offering a tired laugh he added, "And you need not worry, your virtue is forever safe with me.

Mary rubbed his upper arm scoffing gently, "Oh do hush. You say such things." The gentlest twist of a tease played out in her tone, making him smile.

Matthew had anticipated a hasty rejection, but she does not even seem to find his suggestion surprising. As if to her it was perfectly natural that she should stretch out alongside him. This all means something, he knew that, but he was to worn out to work out just what. "Goo," He mumbled closing his eyes acknowledging, "I think the draught is working. I must…" The word fell away as his eyes closed the peaceful intake of his breath the only sound in an otherwise silent room.

The relative peace that enveloped Mary rather surprised her. After all, the last time a man had lain across her bed had certainly not led to anything resembling peace or calm. Still the sight of Matthewpeacefully slumbering in her bed left her with a feeling of rightness, as if this was how things always really ought to have been if they had not both been so stubborn. Glancing down at him she marveled at the way his face had relaxed in sleep, as if the pain had occurred years and years past, instead of mere moments before.

She would find him a doctor, she decided. Surely Sybil knew someone who could help make Matthew well. She would make him well, Mary decided. Even if he could never walk, he could be well. She would see to that. And she would see to the house to.. oh it was ridiculous she had failed to consider that before, even little things like the placement of bell cords, the furniture could be rearranged to ease his comfort. She would see to it, oh she would except she was so very tired. In an instant, she felt as if she had consumed the same draught as Matthew, fatigue spreading across her entire body.

Glancing toward the window she saw the first streaks of sunlight piercing the black veil of night. Sitting down on the edge of the bed she removed her slippers and pushed back the bedding, coasting slowly and ever so gently toward the center of the mattress, toward Matthew. As if sensing her presence via the rustling of the bedding, Matthew stirred mumbling, "Mary?" It sounded half a question, half a plea for reassurance.

"I'm here." She murmured sliding closer to him and letting her eyes close.

**.~.~.~.~.**

Stepping off the bottom step Sybil watched Edwards reenter thefoyer, "Did you see Dr. Baker out?"

He nodded stating, "He said he will call again this afternoon."

"Oh I wish he would not bother." Sybil grumbled impetuously. "I suppose I should not say that though."

Edwards maintained a blank expression, "I would not know my Lady."

"I think you might." She disagreed, the thought almost instantly displaced as she recognized an unfamiliar aroma. "Edwards is that?" Without waiting for a response, Sybil turned following the trail of the scent. Even as Edwards protested as she went down the back stairs leading into the kitchen. Stepping into the kitchen area, she spotted Patrick pouring the contents of a kettle into a mug; he then proceeded to fill two more mugs. Catching sight of them he said, "I thought we could all do with one."

"Hot chocolate?" She asked hopefully, a soft giggle accompanying the sentence.

"The very same." He agreed cheerfully proffering the cup with a relaxed smile.

"However did you manage it?" She questioned taking several deep sniffs of the aroma, letting it drift up into her nostrils. Old Patrick had been the sort, if his shoe laces came undone, he'd ring for a servant to adjust them. Making cocoa would not have been among a skill set she associated with him.

The slightest movement of his bandages alerting Sybil to the fact Patrick was smiling. "I am good for a few things. Besides," He added lightly, "If this war can turn you into a nurse, then I can certainly make a cup of proper chocolate." Sybil offered no response other than a smile as she lifted the cup to her lips. "How is Matthew?"

"As well as can be expected." She said with a slight shrug of her shoulders, and a slight waning of her cheerfulness of mere moments before.

Patrick nodded before turning toward Edwards saying, "Alfred went for the chemists."

"Hopefully he will be a better sport about being woken than Baker." Sybil remarked drolly.

Patrick filled the third mug saying, "Edwards join us."

Edwards appeared surprised by the request demurring, "It would not be proper."

"Sybil and I are not very proper either," Patrick observed, "And we won't tell Mary."

A begrudging smile appeared on Edwards' face, "Perhaps I could take it in my room."

Patrick shrugged handing him a cup, "Enjoy."

"Thank you sir," He said giving a swift nod, before hurriedly crossing back into the entryway, to await Alfred's return.

Patrick turned studying Edwards quick exit from the room. "He's peculiar."

"No," Sybil said firmly. "He is a product of his class and his training. Men like Edwards are so embedded in the system they never have a proper chance to think about their actual role in society."

Lifting his wrist Patrick feigned looking at his wristwatch. "Oh its social equality o'clock."

Sybil smiled thinly, "Funny."

Turning his attention back to the situation Patrick asked, "What did the doctor say?"

"Nothing whatsoever. I do not think he knows anything."

"He seems a mean enough sort." Patrick granted taking a sip of his cocoa. "He does have a great deal of experience though, or so I would imagine."

"He must." Sybil agreed before adding dubiously, "But I do not know if he has any real experience of this sort." She swallowed the rest of a very nice speech she used about how the war had at least pushed medicine forward, recognizing Patrick might not view matters in that light.

"A specialist then?" He questioned following the rough train of her thinking.

Frowning Sybil objected stating, "I am not certain Matthew will agree."

"Well," Patrick said casually as if it was beyond thought, "Then you will have to convince him."

"Me?" Sybil challenged incredulously, "Mary's his wife."

"You are training to be a doctor." He marveled at the way Sybil carried so much knowledge and such experience, and yet retained a baffling level of innocence. "Think of it a training." He suggested cheerfully. "You will have to convince your patients about their treatment."

Sybil smiled, a hesitant smile, "Do you think I can do it?" Patrick did not reply verbally, instead he merely smiled as he lifted his mug to his lips.

**.~.~.~.~.**

As he had since the trenches, Matthew came awake instantly, at once alert and aware. He made instant note of the slant of sunlight creeping under the drapes. From the light he judged he had slept an hour or so at best, possibly less. At the front he had become accustomed to grabbing sleep in increments. Civilian life had not touched the habit. Even a sleeping draught could not touch the embedded routine of his sleep time or lack thereof.

Ironically, it was not until after surveying the sunlight that he became aware of the presence of weight resting upon his chest. Glancing downward he saw a sea of chestnut brown splayed across his chest. Mary, he realized at once. He felt too the warmth of her cheek where it rested atop his chest, and felt the heaviness of her arm slung across his stomach. Such were the makings of any number of his pre-war fantasies, and he felt certain the warmth spreading through him had little to do with the crackling logs in the fire.

He noted with some relief however that the warmth was not a result of pain. The previously unceasing fire in his spine seemed to have settled. He was not certain which to favor; the agony of the fire, or the hollowness that accompanied the absence of any feeling. He supposed it did not matter anyway. It was as it was. He was paralyzed and always would be paralyzed. His body a mere flotsam of war, his legs and spirit given as one more offering to relentless demands of battle.

Glancing down he felt relieved that Mary looked at peace. He had worried his infantile conduct might disgust her. As it was he only hoped she had not found his conduct too embarrassing. The pain had shattered his self-control, leaving his need for her painfully obvious. She had not seemed to mind, even when he'd clutched painfully at her slender wrist. And the way she had curled up beside him, oh he knew it was just sleep. Still, it felt so wonderful to think… If his legs did work…If he could really think of her as his wife for a lifetime, a woman to grow gray alongside.

Even as he relished the fantasy, he found himself dismissing the thought.

He had absolutely nothing to offer her other than a hollow shell of a body and a shattered mind. Oh it was nice enough to sit listening to a phonograph with Mary pretending, but that was all it was a pretense. And he could not very well continue dragging Mary along on such pretenses. He knew that. He knew to very well what he ought to do. He ought to slide his body over, maroon himself on his side of the mattress. Make it perfectly clear he would not allow her to waste her kindness on such a shell as himself. He knew so very well that was what he ought to do. Yet, he did not do that.

He had not been doing as he should for weeks now. Mary's absence had pained him more, far more than he had assumed. And things had slowly been easing back to their old norms. He had relished the return of that comfort. It had made him unwilling to resurrect his old walls. It was surprisingly easy being with her, oh they bickered and argued but it was easy. Even now her body pressed against his, sleeping as if they spent every night this way. Against every inclination in his head, every bit of sense he maintained, he found he liked this… Even if it would not last, even if the ease would one day collapse, one day she would meet a real man who could give her passion, children… Even if… Not today, not today…. Today she was still his wife. Today she was still with him. Maybe feeling like this, maybe that made it alright to cling to the comfort she provided.

Tightening his hold on her, he drew her body more fully against his.

Oh it was only an embrace, he rationalized. Holding her certainly could do her no harm, and it would do him a great deal of good. He would just hold her, and only until he had a better grasp on his emotions, until he was strong enough to let her go to a better life. That decided he breathed in the smell of her, rewrapped his arm around her waist, and pressed a single kiss into her hair. It was such a beautiful torment having her so fully in his arms, so completely his and yet knowing he could do no more, offer her nothing beyond this sterile comfort. Still for him, for this moment it was enough and it was what he needed so desperately. Savoring the feeling of her warm body laying so perfectly alongside his, he closed his eyes and drifted back asleep.

**.~.~.~.~.**


	15. Chapter 15

**A Very Modern Arrangement 15**

Apologies for the long delay. Many thanks for the reviews, favorites and PM's. I will try to avoid such a long delay again but I was fighting a nasty sinus infection that kept winning. Feedback would be most deeply appreciated. This chapter is focused on beginnings… and goes along with my theory M&M never interpret events remotely the same way.

**.~.~.~.~.**

The drizzle and the general grayness of the day did little to dampen Sir Anthony Strallen's mood as he walked toward Grantham House. Maude had said they were ducks of a different sort, no matter the travails or troubles both retained a generally cheerful demeanor. Certainly there had been difficulties, the series of stillborn children; the gradual realization sons and daughters would not be part of their lives, and finally Maude's illness and death. Oh his heart had broken at the loss of that funny, dear woman. Still, though he knew he would never not mourn her much less fail to love her, time had if not healed scarred over the wound; his cheerful energy gradually overcoming the painful loss of one so dear. The bittersweet taste of loss would never desert him, now though it was accompanied by the warmth of memories, and the realization of how much they had shared and how perfectly they had loved one another.

Still, the pain of that loss had helped him place his courtship of the Crawley girls in a certain perspective. It was he realized in hindsight a perfectly silly decision on his part, and one he hoped would not lead to ill feelings between the family who he genuinely liked, and himself. Calling Mary, Lady Crawley had been his fumbling joke, a way of acknowledging her marriage. He could not claim to know Matthew Crawley very well, but he had heard nothing to make him think he would not be a splendid husband for the Crawley's eldest daughter. Of course he had heard too the balderdash about that Turk and Lady Mary. He had given it no consideration; besides one sight of her around Captain Crawley spoke volumes about the character of Lady Mary. Few women of her sort would so willingly bind their lot to a crippled middle class solicitor. It was a decision that told Anthony all he would ever need to know about her character. That he had ever thought she belonged with a man of his age now seemed laughable. Edith was a harder matter. He had found her lovely and sweet and so very, very eager. Still, all he could have offered her was aging bones and a second act. She might well have provided him an heir, but he was hardly the age to swing a tot about, and

Edith and any child would have been burdened with nursing him and most likely mourning him at a young age. It would have been an act of cruelty to burden one so lovely with such a dismal fate. No her engagement to Patrick was a better thing. Whatever his wounds he could offer her a fuller, and certainly longer life. It had all turned out for the best, and he felt nothing but grateful.

Climbing the three steps to the Grantham's door, Anthony reached out and pressed the bell. In moments the door was opened and Edwards greeted him saying, "Good morning Sir." He instinctively handed Edwards his umbrella and with Edwards' assistance Anthony pulled off his coat, saying, "I have an appointment with Mr. Crawley."

Edwards' features never moved as he explained, "Mr. Crawley is not available. However, Mrs. Crawley asked if she might speak with you in the study."

"Of course," Anthony responded agreeably, following Edwards down the hall toward a room he had never visited.

Stepping into the small dark blue study, Anthony felt his lips quirk up in surprise. "Mrs. Crawley of course," He said bemusedly.

"You expected my daughter-in-law." Isobel surmised distractedly. She had been walking, pacing really across the carpet for a solid hour.

"I did." He agreed, "But it is a most delightful surprise to find you instead."

Isobel smiled, but the smile quickly vanished and a worried look covered her face. "I apologize I am not the most pleasant company at the moment." Without conscious thought she crossed to the sofa lowering herself into a sitting position.

"Is something the matter?" His tone instantly shifted toward sympathy and concern.

"Apparently my son had some type of medical emergency last night." Isobel blurted out clearly glad to have someone to confide in.

"Oh dear," Anthony said his forehead crinkling in concern. "I do hope that everything is alright."

Isobel nodded, "Sybil assured me it is." Her tone sounded doubtful, reciting a statement she obviously did not believe.

The machinations of female interaction had never made much sense to Anthony. He was careful to read nothing into her words, saying only, "Have you seen him?"

"Edwards says he's resting." She answered flatly.

"Well," Anthony said after a thoughtful pause. "I am certain it would do him no good to disturb his rest."

"Of course not." She agreed taking a seat on the sofa. "I only wish that I might judge his condition for myself." Anthony took a seat beside her, awaiting her next comment. Almost at once Isobel rose and began pacing before the fireplace. "The plain truth of is it is, I wish to rush up to that room and demand to see my son." She admitted crossly, "I know that is not acceptable behavior, but I cannot still the inclination to do that very thing."

"A mother's instinct." He said in a tone that suggested complete approval.

Isobel barely heard him for her mind was focused on the situation upstairs. "It did not occur to any of them to telephone me." She complained venting her frustration.

"Well," Anthony said good naturedly. "I am certain they did not wish to disturb you."

"I doubt they spared me a single thought." Her irritation was clearly rising for she promptly added, "My own child, my only child, and they did not telephone me."

Anthony tried to suppress the smile that threatened to cross his face, instead suggesting, "I am sure between Lady Mary and Lady Sybil, Matthew received excellent care."

"Yes, I suppose so." Isobel's agreement seemed halfhearted at best. Her mood however seemed to be shifting as she said, "I am sorry," She added offering him an apologetic smile. "You must think me slightly mad; you come for a meeting and find me ranting about the place." She chuckled self-consciously, and truth be said a bit loudly.

"Not at all." He answered easily. "I would wonder what was the matter if you were calm."

"Well I am seldom calm," She answered, "Cheerfully, so you need not concern yourself on that account."

This time Anthony could not withhold his chuckle. "Very well then."

Isobel shook her head saying, "I am still rambling…"

"A most pleasant type of rambling." He agreed in an even tone of voice

Returning to her seat beside him Isobel said, "I do apologize I have not even asked you why you are here. Edwards told me you had an appointment, but I did not inquire beyond that fact."

"Well," Anthony began easily, "I have some legal affairs I would like to discuss with your son, but nothing so pressing as to necessitate disturbing his rest."

"I am grateful for that."

"Nonsense." Anthony said dismissively. Turning toward her, "Now what can I do for you?"

"You have already helped me a great deal." She assured him gratefully. "Without your kind ear I would undoubtly still be wearing a great hole in the carpet." She punctuated her sentence with a loud laugh.

He returned her smile saying, "Well then I am grateful for any assistance I may have provided. Still," He said insistently, "There must be something more I can do."

"Oh no," Isobel responded pointedly. "You have done more than enough."

"A gentleman can never do enough." He said. Then hearing the chime of a clock slightly muted though it was he asked, "Why it is luncheon."

"I suppose so." Isobel agreed though thoughts of food had been banished with the news of her son's health.

"Have you eaten?"

"I can get something at the canteen at work." She said absently.

Anthony shook his head, "Oh I'm afraid I could not allow that. I cannot imagine the canteen has even a decent pudding."

Isobel considered that and laughingly said, "They do not actually, but it will be more than acceptable for me."

"No, no," Anthony said decidedly. "You must allow me to escort you to lunch."

"Oh no," Isobel said an embarrassed gurgle escaping her lips. "I could not impose."

"You would not be imposing." He insisted coolly. "I must eat. And I cannot tolerate the idea of you pacing away the hours, without food to sustain you. I do insist." Sensing she was likely to object again, he said pleadingly, "Allow a gentleman the pleasure of an afternoon's company."

Slowly a smile dawned across Isobel's face, "Well when you put it that way, I would be terribly rude to object."

"Indeed you would." He agreed displaying an enormous toothy grin, "Indeed you would!"

**.~.~.~.~.**

The stream of raindrops drizzling down the window panes dragged Mary slowly from a most restive sleep. Rainy mornings always rendered her eager to turn over and return to sleep. The soft patter of the drops against the pane, and the gray hue of the dawn left her feeling drowsy and utterly relaxed. This morning feeling especially toasty and at ease, the urge seemed doubly so. Stretching her arm out she felt it come into contact with something solid and immovable, Matthew she remembered with a jolt, the thought washing every ounce of the fatigue away. Matthew she thought, Matthew in her bed, Matthew with her… Matthew. She had slept with Matthew. Even as her mind reeled at the notion, she inwardly chided herself at the excitement of sleeping with a man who had been her husband for almost three months. Only them, she thought dismissively. Only Matthew and she would be married for months and months and still occupying separate rooms.

The night before she had been utterly delighted by the mere gift of a phonographic recording…. now Matthew in her bed. Even as she chided herself, she could not wrap her brain around the notion. It was like waking up on your birthday to find it was Christmas morning only to discover Father Christmas left you, your very own pony. She could not think of one thing that could be more pleasant, well aside from his pajama choice which remained terribly middle class. Green stripes she thought with a sigh, which she quickly swallowed lest she wake him. Fortunately he merely mumbled an incomprehensible phrase and tightened his grasp on her before dropping back into slumber.

Resting her head on the curve of his shoulder, she inhaled deeply taking in every bit of her surroundings. The way he smelled, half of soap and half of something else, something entirely Matthew…. The heaviness of his arm resting across her back… The way she could feel the splay of his fingers through the thin material of her gown… It was all so very cozy and utterly intoxicating. Oh how she did like this, she decided with a smile. Matthew carried on about being properly married when he broke his engagement to Lavinia, but this felt properly married enough for her.

In some distant cobweb littered corner of her brain, she supposed she ought to feel guiltier about the circumstances that brought the situation about; it troubled her that she did not. Still Mary Crawley had never pretended she was an overtly moral or righteous soul. Lavinia and Isobel were of a different character than she, and she admired both of them for their stances. She had enough self-awareness to recognize that her values and beliefs could be situational. And when it came to Matthew she seemed destined to never show her best traits. Yet, she comforted herself with the notion she was truly concerned about him. And she felt dreadfully for the suffering the pains had brought about, and she did feel some remorse just not very much. The pleasure of having him alongside her in what should by all rights by their bed overrode virtually every other thought that entered her head. Woe as she might feel that the pain had hurt him, she also felt a ridiculous gratitude that the same pain, for it had brought him to her.

He had needed her. In his pain it was her name he cried out, her he had reached out for, and in the night it was her body he cradled so gently next to his own. How oh how could she regret that his pain had brought forth such sweet need?

As if to assuage her concern, she glanced downwards. It was so rare that she was afforded an opportunity just to look at him. And as she had at the hospital, she recognized her beautiful young boy…the eager solicitor was gone. The baby faced chubby young suitor had been replaced by a trimmer man with lines on his face. He was older, there was no questioning that, the war had put years and years upon his soul and some had leeched across his face. Still, it suited him. There was a gravitas to his features that had been previously absent, and even if she mourned the youthful exuberance of her baby-faced suitor, she recognized the worth in the older, serious solider who wore her ring. Her ring, her husband, and now in her bed…. Oh it was so terribly, terribly delightful. And she felt a kind of peace in her surroundings that was alien to her being. Lowering her head back to his oh so comfortable shoulder; she inhaled the scent of him and closed her eyes allowing herself to drift into another pleasant sleep.

**.~.~.~.~.**

"Well," Jonathan Garrett said rubbing his beard thoughtfully, as they strolled through the halls of his clinic. The usual hustle bustle of the clinics weekday world lay suspended on the Sabbath. The few nurses in attendance carried out their tasks quietly, making the building seem as silent as any temple or church. "I am not certain how I would react if my daughter selected the course you did." Garrett admitted rather matter of factly. That seemed to be his way, Sybil decided and as she had done all morning,she purposefully kept her expression passive, refusing to betray any emotion. Logically, she thought, Garrett did not look old enough to have a daughter her age, but she supposed that was not entirely his point."It is a difficult business. And one I would not favor a daughter of mine entering." Sybil merely nodded unwilling to do or say more. "Still from the little the Earl wrote me you've already seen more than most of the other men who have come here."

Sybil's brow furrowed, lading to her to confess frankly, "I remained on my father's estate during the war."

Perplexed by her confession, Garrett questioned, "Are you pleased by that?" The question so bluntly put, suggested surprise rather than judgment.

"It's the thing in my life I am the most ashamed of." She admitted quietly. "But I will not lie about it, or make it appear grander than it was."

Garrett nodded conceding, "That makes you different from many who have come here."

The ostensible purpose for their meeting was for Sybil to tour his clinic for soldiers. Dr. Garrett's clinic cared for those who appeared in the death notices of the Times as "Death from war wounds" well after their personal war had ended. Sybil's purpose in visiting was to convince Garrett to allow her an opportunity to work under him. The very fact that the clinic was both under staffed and underfunded was to her a benefit. Such establishments were the only places that would afford her the practical experience she needed to learn her trade.

As they continued to walk through the building and down the stairs to the ground floor, Garrett turned toward Sybil asking with open curiosity, "May I ask what made you interested in pursuing medicine?"

"You can ask," Sybil said adding, "I am not entirely sure I can answer." She expected Garrett to make a clever retort but he remained silent seemingly waiting, "I think seeing so much death and injury, I wanted to heal any of that injury that I possibly could."

Garrett seemed to ponder her words, but made no response other than to observe, "Well there is certainly a fair amount to be healed about this place."

"I do not mean to sound arrogant."

She waited for his response, instead he merely inquired, "And you do not object working on the Sabbath."

"I am a hard worker, and people get sick every day."

Keeping astride Garrett said, "And what of missing services."

Sybil played with the gloves she held in her hands, "I find other ways of serving humanity than sitting in a pew clutching a prayer book."

Garrett considered her for a moment. "And in this way you are like many of the patients and the other physicians who come here." He then guided her down the hall and toward his office.

**.~.~.~.~.**

Passing through the checked flooring of Claridges, Isobel tried to disguise her own awe. Despite her expectations, Matthew had quickly adapted to a life of luxury and adopted the ways of the wealthy. Meanwhile she who had thought to skill him, tried to control her urge to gape at the chandeliers and luxurious furnishings. It seemed that in spite of the position her son would one day inherit, Isobel remained unshakably and unchangeably middle class. Walking alongside Anthony, hey crossed the short distance to their table. They were seated at a small intimate table located in a quiet corner of the restaurant. After the waiter had prattled on; dispersing their menus, informing them about the specials and finally thankfully scurried away, she could not withhold a subtle self-deprecating chuckle. Seeing Anthony's curious expression she admitted a trace abashedly, "I was merely thinking what would the Manchester brigade would think of Isobel Crawley dining at Claridges."

A puzzled frown crossed Anthony's face as he asked confusedly, "Why would you dining at Claridges be unusual?"

Avoiding the strident tone she initially felt rising up inside her, Isobel replied, "I must remind you the Crawleys of Manchester and the Crawley's of Downton are two very different sorts."

"Oh yes," He answered at length. "Of course, how very foolish of me to forget."

Isobel quickly interjected, "Not at all. My husband and I lived a.." She searched for the correct term, at length deciding on, "A simpler life. And one even the upper middle class of Manchester found wanting."

"Oh," Anthony responded lifting his water glass to his lips. "And why is that?"

"I chose to continue nursing after our marriage." She explained matter of factly.

Anthony nodded asking interestedly, "And how did middle class Manchester view that decision?"

"With scorn and disapproval," She admitted proudly, the memory of the odious judgmental brigade still plaguing her.

"But you enjoyed nursing."

A fond smile crossed Isobel's face, "I enjoy being of use."

"Hence your current position with the Red Cross." Anthony surmised watching the waiter cross the room with their drinks.

Isobel waited until the waiter had placed their drinks and hurried back across the room before saying, "The war has left a number of avenues for improvement."

"Yes." He agreed vacantly. "Sometimes in a place like this you can almost forget."

Isobel's voice was small as she said, "I forgot you were at the front. France?"

"Italy." He said so low she had to strain to hear him.

"I am sorry."

Anthony sighed deeply, "I used to adore Italy. Now," He sighed before adding, "A very different matter."

"It's a very different world."

Anthony studied her for a moment, "I'd suppose you would approve. I thought you a progressive sort."

"Is progress not to be praised?"

Considering her words Anthony reached for his water, "I suppose that is the question the rest of this century will decide." His tone absent his usual good humor and cheer, sounded anything but optimistic.

**.~.~.~.~.**

Dr. Garrett's office seemed to mirror the state of his clinic. His desk was messy, littered with several open charts, a sandwich wrapper, and several cups. His bookshelves were similar in appearance; his books were jammed onto the shelves with little order or reason. His jacket was likewise tossed thoughtlessly across his desk chair. A student of the mind, Sybil decided, could compile a dozen theories merely based on Dr. Garrett's office.

As if aware of her thoughts, Garrett said sounding half abashed, "I apologize for the state of the place. I am forever intending to straighten my desk. The time," He said with a shrug, as if helpless to alter the situation.

Resisting a nursing desire to make cleanliness from clutter Sybil mirrored his shrug saying, "Not necessary, I am sure you are far too busy." It sounded, she decided exactly like something Mary would say.

"The state of this office should tell you something about the work." He stated candidly. "It is never ending, and to be frank it's brutal. This isn't VAD let's all do our part medicine. This is nursing and caring for men who will more than likely never say your name or even know you are seeing to their care. Men who will only appear in the newspapers in the war casualty lists," He continued reaching for a pack of cigarettes. "This is end of the line medicine, caring for those that society and their families would privately rather have a bullet finished off." He looked at Sybil, his gaze suddenly unflinching, "I admire your desire to heal, it baffles me why a woman might want to enter this profession, but I admire you none the less. Still," He said determinedly, "This work is not easy and there are precious few rewards."

"I am looking to be useful not rewarded." Sybil replied almost instantly deciding the phrase sounded very, very juvenile. "I want to work…" She said stubbornly hoping to mitigate her earlier phrase somewhat.

Garrett watched her for a moment, leaving her with the distinct notion she was being observed not unlike a patient. At length he said, "That is obvious."

Uncertain precisely how to respond Sybil said, "I am very serious about my career, but I am most serious about offering proper care to the wounded. I am not pursuing medicine for my vanity or ambition. I believe I can help people."

Garrett stared at her a number of expressions crossing his face, each more unreadable than the last. "I do not doubt your seriousness or your vocation." He said leaning back in his chair. "I do doubt if anyone can fully anticipate the effect of this business on his or her psyche." He paused as if waiting for her to object, she remained silent. "And I made this same speech to the male applicants."

Sybil did not hide her surprise; however she limited her comments saying only, "I see."

His lips quirked slightly upward, "However, unlike those gentlemen I have decided to offer you a internship at my clinic."

"You are offering me a place here?" Sybil asked surprisingly feeling little elation at his offer.

"Aha I am." He agreed adding, "And I am hopeful you will decline it."

**.~.~.~.~.**

"You always struck me as such a positive man." Isobel declared with a certain surprise. Not long after his progressive statement, the waiter had returned and they had settled to the business of ordering. Funny, she thought, how desperately the British clung to the social niceties, even in the very moment when such niceties hindered the very basics of social intercourse.

"I suppose that I still am." He admitted amiably, "But despite what some may think, I am not a foolish one. This world is changing so rapidly. And not just the dances and music and cocktails Lady Grantham is despairing of." He said pointedly harkening back to that tiger urine infested dinner of weeks ago, "Deep fundamental changes are coming, the world we lived prewar may have been blown to bits in France and Italy."

"Perhaps," Isobel agreed thinking it was not a displeasing thought. "But perhaps we can remake it in a stronger, finer way."

Anthony studied her, "Do you believe that is possible, remaking what has crumbled beneath us."

Isobel thought the question worthy of consideration, so she took time before replying, "As a nurse I know we can seldom heal utterly. We can rarely bring a wounded body part back wholly as it was before." She paused giving weight to her words. "But we can restore function and movement." She reached for her glass and took a sip of water. "All the carnage around us, you are most likely correct we can never heal it completely. There will be scarring and perhaps bits and pieces of that life are gone for good. But other parts can be made useful again. Parts of that old life will return and live a slightly different life."

Anthony listened to her impassively. However as she finished, his lips lifted into a smile, "I do not give a toss what the Manchester Brigade believes." He said pleasantly, "I am very glad to be at Claridges with Isobel Crawley."

**.~.~.~.~.**

"You are offering me a position you hope I will decline," Sybil repeated his words, almost challenging him to revise his phrase.

Garrett drew himself up, before nodding and saying, "Indeed."

"May I ask why?" The directness of her tones obliterating any request in her words.

"For the same reason I question my own position here." He stated idly lifting a chart off his desk and stacking it atop another. Sybil thought him more eager for distraction than a true desire to clear the desktop. "I know the costs of the work." He admitted putting the charts down and staring into her eyes. "I know the burden it will place on your very soul…the effect of daily coming to such a dark place." There was a warning in his tone, one that she read almost as a dare.

This time Sybil studied him intently. "Are you in a dark place?" It was she realized a frighteningly inappropriate question, yet one she felt necessary to ask.

"Very." He acknowledged, his posture almost instantly stiffing as if uneasy with his candor. When he spoke again his tone was serious, lacking any warmth or concern. "Consider my offer." He suggested coolly, "If you are interested I will see you Monday at seven." He rose to walk to the door.

As he twisted the know Sybil announced, "I will see you Monday at seven."

He turned and nodded, seeming almost prepared to say more but instead he simply strode out the door, leaving Sybil alone with a mind as cluttered as the empty desk she faced.

**.~.~.~.~.**

A drip, drip, drip woke Matthew causing him to bolt upright, instantly awake and on full alert. For a moment only a moment the beautiful townhouse in London vanished, replaced by a muddy trench in France. In spring and fall the trenches leeched rain. Nights when he was aching for sleep dragging by endlessly as he lay listening to that drip, hearing the rats scurrying about, enduring the night sounds of men in a place that seemed four train stops from hell. Closing his eyes against that trench, he opened them restored to the house.

Taking several deep cleansing breaths, he attempted to reorient himself to his actual surroundings. Letting his hungry eyes roam about the room, he took in his surroundings… The crackling fire, the scent of bread roasting in the kitchen, the comfortable décor…. All so very different from the trench of mere moments before; the luxury of this world so foreign from the other life. Here, not there, never there again, he thought gratefully. Scrubbing his palms over his face, Matthew inhaled several more deep breaths, letting the fear slide down deep inside of him. Gradually the fear receded and was replaced by a kind of gratitude. The warmth of the house, the sense of security, the certainty of hot food, and pleasant company. …it was all so, so much. Whatever his limitations he would for life thank the heavens he had escaped the trenches and floated back to some kind of civility.

Resting back against the pillows, he took note of the dressing table filled with jars and bottles of every shape and size. "Mary?" He called glancing around expectantly as if anticipating her presence. But she was not there. He was alone in her bed with only the faintest ghost of her scent still clinging to his pajamas, the only evidence that she had ever been there. If he could not smell that sweet scent he would doubt she had ever lain next to him. Last night had been horrendous, but Mary had been so very kind. She had behaved like a true wife, doting, concerned and worried only over his health and fears. She had even, and he loathed that she had to do it, held the sick pan under his head, and when he vomited she had coolly said, "It doesn't matter. It's perfectly alright." Of course it was anything but perfectly alright, but she half convinced him it was. Lying beside her he had felt so secure, so safe as if not even the nightmares could pursue him. Unhappy with the softening of his thoughts, Matthew forced his mind back to practicalities. "There is nothing worse than a romantic cripple." He hissed, warning himself.

Inwardly he chided himself. What had he expected really? That she would be content to remain in his arms. Mary was a practical woman. She would see little sense in tarrying in the bed of a man who could offer nothing beyond impotent embraces and sterile affections. No it was better this way. The very last thing he needed was false solace. Oh he would love to cradle her next to him, press kisses into her fragrant hair, whisper romantic words but what was the point? A woman like Mary wanted no deserved more than he could offer her. No he had meant what he had said this was a temporary marriage. The war was changing everything. Violet was wrong, marriage for he and Mary would not be a long business. In a year, no two, definitely two she would meet some nice, chap who could give her all he could not. He would be alone but at least she would have some happiness. And he would only be alone until he could….

"Good afternoon." Mary called interrupting his ever darker thoughts. Her bright smile was more than he could manage, more than one of his lot deserved.

"Afternoon?" He questioned disbelievingly. The notion he had slept hours and hours without waking, slightly incomprehensible. "I did not mean to sleep so long." He said rubbing his cheek with the heel of his hand.

"You needed your rest." She stated determinedly.

Matthew scoffed saying, "Only half of me is functional, I should require only half the sleep was a whole man."

Mary scowled insisting, "I have told you how I feel about…."

"I know, I know," Matthew agreed dismissively. Kind as she was he found her irritation on that score utterly he saw only a half corpse how could she or anyone else see anything else.

"I hate when you speak of yourself that way."

Matthew rolled his eyes heavenward deciding to distract her by saying, "I was to meet Sir Anthony today."

"Edwards handled that," Mary replied busying herself straightening her books. The books did not especially require straightening; however she was aching for something to do… Something, anything really to distract her from Matthew's glum mood. She had been happy, so happy, and now she could see he did not feel the same. Much as she would claim otherwise, it pained her to realize their closeness was a one sided affair. Oh she knew, of course she did, that Matthew did not feel about her as she did him, still the reminders hurt so.

"By what? Telling him I was too ill to receive visitors? What he must think." Matthew declared shaking his head.

His mind had clearly become fixed on the Strallen situation, Mary decided with a twinge of disappointment. Sleeping beside her clearly occupied precious of his attention... She could not decide whether to be more hurt or peeved by his lack of interest. Still, deciding it would be wifely to seem interested in his concern she offered flatly, "Edwards is the very soul of tact and diplomacy, I am quite certain he managed a perfectly reasonable explanation."

"I detest this you know." He exclaimed irritably. "I thought the worst of it was the chair… But it just goes and on like a damned piece of shrapnel endlessly moving about inflicting more damage. It is not enough that I can feel nothing below my waist, no I must be sick and useless and incapable of fulfilling even the most minor of duties."

Sensing his frustration level increasing to dangerous levels, Mary rose and crossed over to the mattress sitting down beside him. "I hardly consider a single missed appointment rising to the category of damage."

Inhaling deeply Matthew conceded, "Perhaps not. Still it becomes ever clearer that I will never resume my old life, my health is shattered, my possibilities ever more limited."

Unwilling to allow his protestations to go on and on, Mary interjected, "One set back does not equate limited possibilities." Even to her own ears she sounded authoritarian but she supposed the situation rather called for it.

Regarding her with a dubious expression Matthew answered, "I fear you are a bit biased on my account."

"I am a great deal biased. But I am also perfectly honest." She took a breath, pausing for effect assuring herself of his complete attention, "I see your worth. I hope too that one day you shall see the man I already do."

"I fear I see the truth, whereas your kindness alters your perception." He stated effectively terminating the conversation by turning his head and his attention to exploring the view outside the window.

"How differently we see things." Mary declared with a tightly restrained frown as she walked out of the room, closing the door behind her.

**.~.~.~.~.**


	16. Chapter 16

**A Very Modern Arrangement 16**

Happy Thanksgiving Eve or Day for the U.S. readers & happy Thursday to everyone else! Thank you for all the favorites, and story alerts, as well as the gentle prompts to get on with writing. It really does mean so much that you guys are enjoying the story. As always reviews thrill me more than turkey or eggnog.

**.~.~.~.~.**

As the weeks until Lady Edith's wedding to Patrick grew shorter, the atmosphere at Downton careened between anticipation, nervousness, and the slightest trace of concern. For weeks the planning and strategizing involving the wedding kept the staff, and Cora busily engaged… Yet, such preparations were increasingly being completed with the dawning awareness that really Mr. Patrick should have been home a fortnight before. Oh no one said a word. Quite the opposite everyone pretended to feel nothing, but cheer, and the greatest of hopes. Still in the quieter moments the nervous frowns, and quickly vanishing smiles told quite a different story. And as the weeks before the ceremony dwindled down, the staff and the family struggled to reconcile Lady Edith's boundless hopes, with their mounting concerns.

Somehow in spite of such worries, the impending arrival of Lady Edith's dress had united the entire household in a sense of excitement. For days discussion of the gown had dominated discussion in the downstairs dining hall. Even Thomas, who hardly seemed the sort to care for lace and frivolities, had openly speculated when it might arrive. After the sorrows of the war and the uncertainties of the present, it felt refreshing to think, dream really about the beauties of the dress and the happiness it would bring Lady Edith.

Finally, one fine morning the dress had arrived on the milk train. Unfortunately O'Brien as if by some type of prescience had met the boy delivering it at the door and promptly hustled the gown upstairs before anyone from Mrs. Hughes to the kitchen maid had had even a single look. O'Brien had spent the next several hours ensconced with Cora and the dress leaving the rest of the staff stewing in a mad curiosity. No one found her behavior the least bit surprising. O'Brien's quips about Tom Mix were not mere slips of the tongue, the woman had something of the dramatist in her and she had never missed an opportunity to embrace the dramatic. So as the hours ticked away, most of the staff got about the business of running the household unwilling to offer O'Brien the captive audience she so craved.

As such Anna had passed her morning changing linens, plumping pillows and seeing to the bedrooms of the family. Busy as she was the dress still provided a most welcome diversion. Anna considered herself a realist, she knew such things were not to be her lot in life. Still, one could enjoy such beauty even while knowing it not one's lots to experience.

Entering the hall she caught sight of O'Brien exiting the countess' sitting room.

"Is that Lady Edith's wedding gown?" Anna asked a bit more eagerly than she had intended.

"Yes." O'Brien agreed sullenly. "As if I do not have enough to fill my hours, I am now to handle fittings for Lady Edith's gown." Sighing petulantly she added. "Sometimes I believe the family conspires to make sure I never have a single moment to myself."

"Yes." Anna agreed with a cheery smile. "We are all well aware of the great pains involved in being a ladies maid. You do keep us well very informed on that account."

"Oh aren't you the funny one. Downton's very own Mary Pickford."

As entertaining as bickering with O'Brien was, Anna decided to alter the tone saying, "It is a lovely dress."

"Eh," O'Brien agreed in the most begrudging of tones, "It is. Pity the bride wearing it is as plain as the door stop."

"Every bride is beautiful on her wedding day." Anna declared plaintively.

Scowling O'Brien said, "A load of sentimental nonsense. I have seen many a bride who'd have done better to wear the veil the whole of the day."

"You really are just a rainbow of sunshine." Anna declared over her shoulder strolling down the hall toward yet another bedroom.

For her part O'Brien turned moving toward Lady Edith's room muttering, "Mary Sunshine."

**.~.~.~.~.**

"Mama," Robert intoned in greeting as he entered the library where Violet sat waiting for him. "I was not expecting you today."

"Well," She observed coolly. "Do not sound so very excited by the prospect."

"I am very glad to see you." He said almost wholly sincerely. "But judging by the absence of Cora and Edith am I to assume there is a hidden purpose in your visit."

"You do judge correctly. A sign of my influence I am sure." Robert did not reply merely sat down crossing one leg atop the other, waiting expectantly. "I understand Edith's gown arrived today."

Letting a smile cross his face Robert marveled with a certain awe, "You do know all the secrets."

"It is hardly a secret." Violet stated reaching for the tea Carson had left. Without asking she poured the liquid. "There has rarely been a secret in this village I was not intimately familiar with…"

Robert nodded acknowledging if silently the truth in her words. "The gown arrived this morning. Cora and O'Brien have been locked away doing whatever it is they do with such things."

"And how is Edith responding to the situation."

"Excitedly I suppose." He said vaguely. "I cannot pretend to understand the excitement ladies feel about a bit of silk and a pretty cut."

"Really." Violet said seemingly interested by his remark. "I assumed men rather fancied such things."

"The ladies in them," Robert replied boldly even while coloring a bit.

Violet turned her head as if displeased by his frankness. "And Edith," She demanded, "Does she question why her bridegroom lingers in London."

Robert took his time about answering, wishing he had a cup of tea to delay him. Finally he reluctantly conceded, "She does not say so. Though I imagine she must."

"This situation is becoming very worrisome."

"Really Mama," Robert answered feigning surprise. "You always disguise your emotions so well."

Violet lifted a single brow saying, "I have always found your attempts at humor rather laborious and seldom successful."

"I think we would both do well to remain clear of the situation." Robert declared in what he hoped was an authoritative tone.

Violet regarded him for only a moment before stating, "We have all attempted that tactic." She said adding in the most decided of tones, "It has failed most spectacularly."

"Perhaps." Robert agreed glancing away reluctant to pursue the conversation. "But it is Edith's choice, and she does seem happy."

"She is happy." Violet granted warily. "However, I have seen a great many happy bride turned to an unhappy wife by the close of the wedding trip."

Robert crossed his arms over his chest declaring, "They have known one another the whole of their lives. That is a strong foundation."

"Would it have been a strong foundation for Mary and Patrick?"

Robert glanced over the surprise evident in his face. "We need not discuss that."

Ignoring him Violet continued along her initial route stating forcefully, "We made a mistake with Mary. I am not eager to see that mistake repeated with the second daughter."

"We had little choice. Papa…"

"Your father was wrong. Perhaps we were…mistaken. "She admitted reluctantly for Violet was a woman who believed herself incapable of being wrong. "I am not eager to repeat my prior misjudgments."

"Edith does love him." Robert said firmly. "Mary did not. Edith does…." It was the answer he clung to whenever the doubts his mother voiced entered his own mind.

"Of course she does." Violet granted uneasily. "But how much of that love is borne of past affections and present disappointments."

Drumming his fingers along the fabric of the chair Robert noted, "All love is based on nostalgia, anticipation and half-desperate hope."

"What hope is to be found? Realistic hope." She insisted if wanting to forewarn him against an easy response. Continued along the same vein she stated, "He's a young man who in less than 30 years saw hundreds of people slip beneath an icy sea, suffered a loss of his memory and his sense of place, then he was sent to a terrible war where he saw thousands more, and as a mea culpa he suffered horrifying injuries from which he will never truly recover." Violet shook her head, "How can one dragged into such dark, nightmarish places ever be expected to skip back to a sunny future?"

Realizing there was no pat answer to her question Robert turned regarding the loveliness of the spring afternoon. Yet, the beauty did little to comfort the thoughts now darkening his mind.

**.~.~.~.~.**

"Well," Edith questioned impatiently, a gurgle that seemed borne half of excitement and half of concern… "What do you think?"

Cora smiled reassuringly declaring, "It looks absolutely lovely."

"You really think so," Edith questioned beaming from the praise.

Cora smiled cooing, "Indeed I do." She praised rising to survey the train. It was a trace longer than she would have preferred, but it was Edith's day. "Patrick is going to have a very beautiful bride." She punctuated her sentence with a smile asking, "O'Brien do you not agree?"

"Of course my lady." O'Brien answered with such blatant insincerity that no one save Cora would have believed her for an instant.

"See my darling," Cora said totally reassured, "Everyone quite agrees."

Anxious to change the subject, Edith asked half-interestedly, "Did you speak with Mary?"

"Briefly," Cora replied returning to her chair, content to let O'Brien bother about the actual business of fitting the dress. "It is quiet the strangest thing, whenever I telephone your sister she is always on the urge of going to some appointment. Today it was some charity for war heroes with leprosy."

Resisting the urge to roll her eyes Edith asked, "Did she mention anything about Patrick?"

"Not that I remember," Cora answered before confiding, "Rosamund is having a dinner party tonight."

"Another one." Edith declared in surprise, "I thought after the last disaster she'd give it a few months before staging another event."

"Well," Cora stated airily, "You know your Aunt Rosamund. She's never down for long."

Deciding responding to that commentary was a terrible idea; Edith instead asked interestedly, "What sort of party is it?"

"Small apparently. The Duke and his American bride."

"And she invited Mary?" Edith could not restrain the pout that crossed her face, and felt no real desire to do so. It was infuriating how Mary forever skipped free of any sort of punishment. She could perform acts to rival Crippen, yet still be invited to dine with the Archbishop.

"Of course."

Edith did not even try to resist rolling her eyes. "You really have to hand it to Mary. She causes a huge scandal, brings ruinous gossip down on the entire family. And somehow she ends up on her feet, even more socially advanced."

"Don't be unfair." Cora scolded gently. "Mary has certainly suffered a great deal for her… choices."

"And somehow ended up married to the man she wanted to marry and the social belle of London."

"And you are marrying the man you want and can afford no room for complaint." It sounded like the sort of thing one ought to say, Cora decided. Mothering had never come particularly naturally to her. Marmee might know how to handle her little women but Cora hadn't the slightest notion of how to achieve that type of home. She realized that perhaps she ought to have considered this far more when the girls were younger; still there had been so many events to plan and far too many barbs from Violet to fend off and never forget. Now she had to make do, patching together relations as best she could.

"I suppose," Edith agreed glumly.

"Let's focus on happier matters," Cora suggested brightly.

"Alright," Edith agreed continuing to peer at herself in the mirror.

"Has Patrick decided on who will attend him at the ceremony?"

Edith took in a breath before confessing, "He has asked Matthew."

A moment passed as Cora took Edith's words, "Well that is a bit perverse."

"Perverse," Edith questioned confused by her mother's tone.

"Well darling you must admit It is a bit awkward to have the man supposed to stand up for the groom utterly incapable of doing so… " Cora shook her head as if finding the entire situation beyond understanding.

"I think it's a perfectly lovely choice." Edith defended loyally. She could never remember Patrick making a wrong choice.

Brushing her hand across her eyes Cora sighed tiredly saying, "I was so hoping one of my daughters would have a remotely normal wedding." As if just recollecting matters she added, "First Mary runs off with Matthew ..and goodness knows Sybil will probably wear harem pants and get married by a Hindu priest. I was counting on you for a bit of normality or at the least a want of gossip."

"Mama that really is unfair," And as she said it she turned at the very same instant O'Brien was placing a pin. The movement caused O'Brien to stumble falling against her and causing Edith to sway. As she moved O'Brien reached out to catch herself and the pin in her hand stuck into the fabric. The contact was slight but marked by a slow ripping sound. Glancing downward as O'Brien righted herself, Edith saw only the rip on her lovely train. "YOU….YOU!" Edith spluttered angrily. "You ripped it!" Her furor dissolved almost at once and tears dribbled down her cheeks.

"I am very sorry my lady it was an accident." O'Brien's words tumbled out atop one another.

"Sorry!" Edith said lashing back toward anger. "My dress is ruined and you are sorry. You stupid, stupid…."

"O'Brien please step out and wait for me downstairs!" Cora instructed rising to gather her daughter into her arms. "It's alright my darling," Cora soothed rubbing Edith's back like she had when the girl had come sobbing because Mary had cut off her beautiful braid, or when Mary had convinced her she was adopted from a family of swine… or any of the hundreds of times Edith had approached her in tears.

For her part, O'Brien scurried across the room and out the door without further comment. Only when she was out in the relative safety of the hall did she frown saying, "Well that will not turn out well."

**.~.~.~.~.**

The sounds of afternoon traffic were an eternal surprise to Patrick. The noise and sounds of the street were not particularly loud; he had been in an artillery unit after all. And he had no true memories of what the street had sounded before his …experience. Still the tooting of the horns, the cries of the newsboys and other sounds seemed strange somehow. Glancing down at the street he saw car after car pass the window. Even in Ontario there had been far more horses than automobiles. Yet in four years' time the ratio had totally reversed. This new age seemed more a place for machines than man. He had been reading some of Matthew's copies of Wells. He had thought them entertainment, instead increasingly he felt they gleaned the future. Stepping away from the window he reached for the glass of cognac he'd poured to calm himself. Hearing footsteps he called, "I wondered when you would come home. Mary is going to be very cross if we are late."

"I am already very cross." Mary replied coldly. "Sybil is not home yet?"

Unwilling to provoke Mary further Patrick said, "I am certain she will be home soon."

"We shall see." Mary said vaguely.

"It is nice she is enjoying herself." He said uncertainly. Mary could be cryptic and difficult to understand. Still, he felt a desire to converse with her.

Mary eyed him skeptically saying, "I would hardly prefer her not enjoying herself."

"Good afternoon all." Matthew said wheeling himself into the sitting room.

Mary strode to the other side of the room, resting her hand on his shoulder. "How was your day?"

While the duo exchanged pleasantries, Patrick studied Mary recognizing her demeanor had subtly shifted with Matthew's arrival. "Patrick?" The sound of his name dragged Patrick back into the conversation.

"Yes." He said unsure why his name was being invoked.

Mary rolled her eyes saying, "He asked how you were."

"Fine, fine." Patrick said trying to inject a certain cheer into his tone. Seeing Matthew glance at the contents of his glass, he forced a jovial laugh saying, "A bit of Dutch courage. Rosamond's gatherings are always a bit nerve inducing." It started out as a lie but ended up as the truth.

Matthew smiled assuring him, "She vows this will be a very routine evening."

"You have spoken to her." Mary questioned sounding surprised by the news."

He nodded explaining, "She stopped by for a bit of tea and a chat this morning." Seeing Mary's furrowed expression, he hurriedly added, "I think she wanted a bit of building up, the memories of tigers and all."

"I see," Mary's tone clearly conveyed her doubts about the extent of her husband's explanation. Still she smiled suggesting, "We had best all begin dressing."

Matthew reached to unbutton his coat, but then absently pushed up his sleeve glancing at his wristwatch. "Yes we should."

Sitting his tumbler on the end table Patrick said, "I think I will wait down here a bit for Sybil." He said gamely adding, "I am certain she will be home soon." As if wanting to add heft to his words, he strolled over to the window pushing the curtain back to watch the traffic on the street, taking another sip of his drink.

**.~.~.~.~.**

The rhythms of the late afternoon had settled across the clinic. Late afternoon was a quiet time in hospitals, and in this clinic particularly. Sybil had expected hospitals and clinics to be loud, boisterous places. Garrett's clinic was the antithesis of noisy. By late afternoon patients had ingested or been injected with their afternoon medicine. The desperate procedures of morning were hours past. Afternoons were a drowsy time of taking vitals and checking patients. The beams of sunlight filtering through the drapes, and the voices of the very few visitors were low murmurs barely breaking the afternoon hush. Aside from the moans of the patients there was little noise in the wards. Sybil sometimes passed an entire shift without exchanging a word with another soul. Later this fact would be much mentioned and discussed. At the time Sybil thought nothing amiss. In a clinic full of unresponsive terminal patients one could hardly expect much chat or cheer. In the beginning this neither depressed nor surprised Sybil.

Indeed, the early days were invigorating. Sybil liked being busy and learning new things. The clinic offered opportunities for her to do both. After taking classes in the morning she would pass the late afternoon and early evening hours working with the patients. The tasks were admittedly one sided, with the patients either bandaged or staring back with vacant gazes. In spite of this, Sybil often found herself working well past her assigned hours. There seemed so much to learn and precious little time.

Tonight though Sybil was determined to leave, at least, very near her assigned time... Aunt Rosamond had telephoned the clinic citing a family emergency to remind her of the event. As if she could possibly forget. Mary had been talking about the event for days. "Blood or red wine," Mary had airily phrased it as if there would be madness in selecting the world of the ill over a pleasant dinner. Given a choice between the two, though, Sybil would have opted for a few more hours of work. However, wanting to remain in her sister's good graces, Sybil realized missing the dinner was not a choice. As such she was hurrying purposefully toward the nursing room, planning to turn in her charts and leave instructions for the evening before departing and hurrying home.

Walking in that direction she nearly collided with Garrett. His movements were quick and his steps hurried as he demanded, "Are you leaving."

"I was." Sybil answered, but she promptly added, "Is there a problem?"

"Quite." He agreed keeping an eye focused on the doors. "We have a patient being admitted. "

"Oh," She said waiting for the information she hoped he would provide. A patient being admitted hardly seemed a problem to her mind. Sybill had seen two patients admitted in the past two days it seemed a routine enough affair.

"He is a bit of a case." Garrett stated absently quickly adding, "I would like you to sit in on this case. It may be instructional." His tone was as always clinical and detached.

Falling into step alongside Garrett, Sybil struggled trying to decide which behavior best suited the moment. "You said a bit of a case." She clarified probing for more insight, "Is he a former patient?"

"Four times." Garrett replied sharply. "I treated him in the field once, then at hospital and he's been in this clinic two more times."

Uncertain what to say Sybil heard herself rambling nonsensically, "It must be a challenging case."

"Not particularly." Garrett said before finishing by declaring, "Only, he just keeps attempting to kill himself."

As if invoked a trio of men virtually ran into the hall carting a stretcher. A patient lay thrashing on the thin canvas. "Here he is." Garrett said before barking, "Take him into the examination room." Without turning or facing her Garrett called, "Sybil are you with me?"

"I am here." Sybil replied falling in beside the stretcher, a trail of blood dribbling off onto the floor from the wrist of the patient. As such she took careful steps determined not to slip on the blood.

**.~.~.~.~.**

Shaving was not a thing Matthew had contemplated a great deal prior to the war. It was soley a task he completed religiously each morning. "A gentleman must face the day with a clean face," Reginald had avowed, one of the countless platitudes he rained down upon his son. Matthew had been a dutiful son, and had followed the instructions. His experiments with moustaches had been short lived. The silly hair he had worn over his lip while at Oxford, as well as the not much more successful one he had worn for over a year at the front. At the front shaving had been a kind of pleasure a bit of hot water and a clean razor the rarest of luxuries. And in the hospital he had learned this was a task he could still easily perform for himself. As he discovered the limitations of his condition, he had been absurdly grateful for the things he could still do.

During his hospital stay Matthew had become accustomed to shaving using a basin in his room. Cabinets with sinks were not designed for sitting. It had been a minor adjustment, moving the shaving basin to the dressing room. He had given little thought to the process. However, a few days before he had returned from the office to find Mary smiling insisting he hurry at once to the washroom. The counter had been cut, reshaped, and an opening created. "You can roll your chair to the basin." She announced proudly. Indeed, he could. He had never said a word, yet she had known. It had pleased him more than he would have imagined. Shaving in a bathroom again, another little task he thought gone for good, yet she had given it back to him. The one, oh the only, benefit of this damnable condition was that it schooled him to appreciate every little thing he could still do for himself. Thanks to Mary shaving was now among the things he could do in the room such things should naturally occur.

This afternoon though he could feel little beyond the heated sensation creeping steadily up his lower spine. The burning heat was now his near constant companion. The level of pain of that awful night a week before had been neither matched nor wholly eradicated. Hours would pass with no pain, then it would start up again. The level of pain would increase steadily for hours and hours only to wholly vanish, only to reappear again sometimes only minutes later.

The previous night, sleeping beside Mary he'd woken in a cold sweat of pain, shaken by the hot pain he'd shifted rustling the mattress. Mary didn't wake up, not properly, instead she mumbled some nonsensical things, and placed her arm over his torso. The effect had not been displeasing, anything but…

A sudden hot jolt of pain shot up his spine causing him to drag the razor down his cheek slicing his lower neck. The pain was terrific, heated like an lightning strike down the length of his back. Instinctively leaning his entire upper half down, Matthew sought whatever relief he might find and found precious little. Resting his face against the cool basin, it felt as if hours and hours passed, but only minutes later he came back to himself, watching a thin stream of red blood slipping down the basin and into the water.

"Matthew?" Mary called tapping lightly on the door. "Are you alright?"

"Yes, yes." He groused sitting up, reaching over to open the door.

Mary stepped in saying, "Did you hear me I have been calling you. WHAT?" She cried seeing the blood rolling down his neck.

"Nicked myself shaving." He acknowledged nonchalantly reaching for his towel to staunch the flow. He added rather matter of factly, "Another of those pains."

"You really must see a specialist." She insisted in the firmest of her numerous firm tones. Had she been of the male sex, Matthew thought Mary would have been a most effective military general. Giving orders and acting imperious seemed to come very naturally to her.

"I have told you what I think of that idea."

"You have been very clear on that front." Mary agreed placing her hand over his on the towel. "The pressure will stem the bleeding."

"You did learn some skills during the war."

"Nonsense," She said explaining, "I learned that from caring for Diamond."

"I am grateful your equine experience is helpful in your married life." Matthew observed sarcastically.

"It has been of precious little use." Mary vowed distractedly dabbing at his neck. "Diamond is perfectly sweet and agreeable whereas you…. "Continuing to peer at his neck she said, "You are going to require a bandage."

"Oh I have no doubt." He agreed sounding utterly irritated, rather than in any type of pain. "I am like a junkman in search of new ailments and disorders. Palsy on top of paralysis. Hypochondriac pain… I do fear what would happen if I was near a woman who was with child. I am certain; I would catch the condition forthwith."

Mary rolled her eyes but chose to ignore the ridiculousness of the comment. Instead, opting for a safer topic she informed him, "Mama telephoned." As she spoke she cut a bandage and wrapped it around his lower neck. Hopefully his collar would cover the ungainly cut, at least she hoped it would.

Matthew angled his head upwards saying, "Oh."

"Edith is fitting her dress this afternoon." She shook her head, "Poor O'Brien trying to make a silk purse out of a sow's ear." Matthew's lips quirked upwards but he made no other response to her remarks. "Are you looking forward to going back to Downton?"

Matthew glanced up at her as he reached for his razor. "Perhaps. Are you?"

"Of course," Mary replied smiling at the mere notion of Downton. "You know I'm never quite myself when I'm not at Downton."

"You do miss it." Matthew said evenly not remotely surprised by her answer.

"I am very happy here…with you."

"But a part of you always feels off when you are not at Downton."

Mary considered his words. "I do not know. Haxby was a horrifying thought…" She felt uneasy as if they were drifting into dangerous waters. The past from that awful Garden Party until that morning in the library was a dangerous place and one they had never revisited. At length uncertain how to answer a question she had not resolved for herself, she simply shrugged.

Respecting her honesty Matthew simply nodded saying, "I'd best finish shaving."

Mary nodded and moved toward the door. Not wanting to dwell on unpleasant matters she lightened her tone calling, "Oh and Matthew," She said standing in the door fixing him with a utterly serene smile. "Just so you know this topic is not closed."

"What topic?" He asked feigning ignorance over her meaning.

"The specialist."

"I have told you I have no intention of seeing a specialist." He announced with an air of defiance, which only served to cause Mary to chuckle as if someone had told her a particularly witty joke.

"Oh Matthew," She replied bemusedly calling over her shoulder as she walked into her bedroom, "You know, I always get my way."

Stretching his arm out, he used the tips of his fingers to push the door closed. The effect was not as dramatic as he would have liked, and he scowled at the door realizing that Mary did indeed always get her way. He supposed he ought to just make an appointment, and have it over with. It would come to no good, oh he was quiet certain of that, still at least it would allow Mary to see the pointlessness of whatever hopes she harbored. She would give up then… He felt a puzzling uncertainty at this notion. It was what he knew he must do, or so he told himself. Yet, it was so terribly difficult to hold on to that assurance when he found her mere presence so very comforting.

The silence of the room was disrupted, as the soft strands of Strauss began floating down the hallway. The gentle melody caused Matthew to smile. His wife did know what would most soothe him, and always seemed willing to do whatever was necessary to help him achieve that state. He knew, of course he did, that there was an incongruity in thinking in one instant of what would most make her give up, and in the very next being pleased at her wifely gestures. He recognized that he should simply reject such gestures, that doing so was the only way to stop such gestures. But he did not feel quite up to that effort today. Actually, he felt less and less interested in making any effort in that direction of late. He blamed the blasted phantom pains…. Surely when they stopped his increasing need would lessen and he could let her go. Yes, he thought, surely that would happen. Still as he lifted his shaving brush he felt troubled, and as he resumed shaving he found himself able to push away the cream far easier than dismissing his troubled thoughts which lately seemed eternally fixed on Mary.

**.~.~.~.~.**


	17. Chapter 17

As always I want to thank everyone for the PM's and gentle prompts. This chapter, due to the sheer awfulness of the CS took forever to write. Please do let me know what you think…

.~.~.~.~.

**London, 1943**

"Dad," A voice called summoning him from the darkness of his dreams. Moments later he felt his arm being gently prodded. Matthew awoke with a jolt eyeing the ginger haired figure before him through sleep glazed eyes. Age was a dicky thing he realized, during the war he had become accustomed to waking instantly and he had kept at the habit for years. Now his body was betraying him. It took a moment for the eyes to clear, his mind to sharpen. His wife said she had lines upon her face, he felt his were settled internally.

Smiling up at the girl, well a girl to him, he greeted warmly,"Hello you."

"You fell asleep." The girl noted with the faintest tisk of disapproval.

"I was waiting on the late war news." He said as if needing justification. Finding his eyes still a bit cloudly, he rubbed his hands over the lids. Lowering his hands he began feeling for his glasses. Patting his face and upper forehead, he found them at last nestled in his hair.

"Are you sure," The girl teased a bemused expression crossing her face. "I thought perhaps you might be waiting for Lord Haw-Haw."

"Hardly," Matthew guffawed repeating, "Hardly."

Crossing to the chair opposite his; the young woman dropped down with a most unladylike groan. "The only war news I want to hear is this blasted war is finally over." She completed the sentence with a sigh of such weariness she sounded a decade older than her age.

Three years ago he might have given her a pat response, glib assurance it certainly could not go on much longer. Now such assurances seemed little more than lies. He sometimes wondered if the war would ever end. So he only said, "Yes," before moving on to safer topics. "How was the cinema?"

"Depressing," She said unwinding her scarf. Toying with the fringes of wool with her nails, a pretty pout crossed her typically bright face. "We saw Silent Village."

Matthew straightened slightly, his curiosity clearly peaked. "Did you now? Well how was it?" The questioned tumbled out making plain his interest.

"Oh," She remarked coyly, "Depressing. "

"Perhaps, perhaps." Matthew granted quickly adding firmly, "But you do understand Silent Village is very important."

Recognizing her father's interest she said, "Oh I know dad."

He felt her gentle rebuke but could not quite stop himself from asking,"Was it well done."

She paused a moment before answering, "Very."

"I do wish your mother had gone along." Matthew said, "I'd like her view on things."

"Mother." She chuckled seemingly bemused at the very thought. "I cannot imagine her in the cinema." Her brow furrowed as if taxed at the mere notion. "You know she is a terrible snob about these things."

"This is quite different." Matthew's tone was of the slightly hectoring nature he used when he spoke about very important subjects. "What happened at Lidice was terrible."

"Yes," She agreed softly her features becoming reposed, "It's all terrible."

Matthew watched the distracted, saddened look he had come to dread cross her face. In the awkward silence he to thought of the tow headed boy, and agile young man who had come first to play, and later to court his daughter. The boy with a slow wit and an overly serious nature, yet such a winning personality…. He had half thought he might call the boy son. Things had not progressed so far and with a war the boy seemed reluctant to press matters. And then one day he had died. Murdered by a German soldier with a single shot to the head... Dead at 21. Just past a boy and sent to fight fearsome odds. Matthew would have thought the idea would be familiar to him, it was not. Worse still he had been able to offer their girl little solace. His own war scars remained tender, ripped open by the sight of a new generation marching with weapons on their shoulders, optimism in their eyes. He could barely stomach the sight, even while proclaiming the war necessary and right. None of his stances rendered him capable of comforting his wounded daughter. His wife never emotional, at times chilly with the mere notion of emotion, had risen to the occasion. She held the girl together, holding her while she wept, keeping her mind occupied, even encouraging the girl's choice to enter war work, something Matthew privately believed she did not entirely approve of… And as the months passed Matthew saw the girl beginning to heal. He had hoped the grief would pass, but it would never entirely do so he realized. At such moments he ached horribly as much for her pain as his inability to comfort her.

Watching her features soften, recognizing the storm of sadness was now a light rain, Matthew waited for her to speak. Long ago a Crawley girl had told him she felt herself in a waiting room. Being father to a grown daughter, he thought was the same, he was forever waiting and hoping…to understand.

"Have you heard about the Crowboroughs?"The girl queried clearly eager to change the topic. Matthew shook his head. "They've left the country."

"Good." He replied decidedly, adding "This country is well rid of such rubbish."

"I feel bad for their son." She said firmly. "Roger isn't at all like his father."

Reaching for his drink Matthew found his tumbler of brandy had been surreptitiously replaced with a glass of water. Clearly his wife had preceded his daughter's arrival. Scowling at the water he never less took a sip. "I find the likeness rather pronounced."

"Dad," She said patiently. "You're an idealist… everyone cannot meet your expectations."

Matthew pondered her words stating softly, "Sometimes I fail to meet my own thoughts." He admitted adding, "But it is not that failure which troubles me."

"What then?" She laid the scarf aside gifting him her full attention.

Aside from his wife's full attention, hers was the one he loved most, most desired interested. And so he went on thoughtfully, "The Duke believes in his convictions. I think he deserves the noose…but I understand his convictions. He has shared them often enough." His voice became testy. "His young Lordship," He pronounced the title with disdain. "Lacks strong views, indeed possesses no views that I can recognize of his own making." He scowled continuing, "You have disagreed often enough with your mother and I, but you have always explained your views if not to my satisfaction, but enough to suggest you had considered the matter. Lord Crowborough parrots his father's words." As if dissatisfied with his statement he added, "He has no arguments to explain Hitler's militarism, the appalling treatment of Jewish businessmen, any of the horrible things that happened in villages such as Lidice." Shaking his head he exclaimed, "He speaks of none of that, merely reciting whatever he believes his father might say."

She considered his words for a moment, tucking her legs beneath her body. "Maybe.. it is just too terrible…" Her suggestion seemed a work in progress for she added, "He's hardly the only man in England unwilling to face things."

Matthew contemplated her words for a very long silent moment. His expression grew pensive and remote, his tone darkening. "Someone I loved once told me you have to face up to the hard things." Matthew said feeling his mind drift back to a dinner party he had attended just over a year before the girl had been born.

.~.~.~.~.

"I do believe the only way back for this country, back to any type of sanity, is to return control to the traditional class who are really the only ones capable of properly managing such tasks." The Duke of Crowborough declared with the type of confidence of one used to having his words much considered. Taking a sip of wine he continued along the same theme saying, "Wars are always times of transition; at such times it is necessary to allow the lower classes a more prominent role. However, the return of peace shall allow things to calm and reorder." He completed his sentence with a smile.

Listening to the Duke's words, Matthew glanced down at his hand, and saw that he was gripping his knife so tightly his hand was shading red. He had never cared for the Duke, but he had met him precious few times, and had never actually endured much conversation with him. Now he had an inclination of why Robert did not invite the man to Downton, the Count was a blithering idiot.

"How does the Conference of London fit into your societal views?" Matthew swung his head to see the other blithering idiot guest Sir Richard Carlisle was speaking. He drifted off paying little attention to the Duke's answer pondering instead how he managed to end up at a dinner with this idiotic aristocratic fool and the vile Carlisle.

As much as he had wanted to blame Mary, she had looked virtually shell shocked when Carlisle strutted into the room calling out greetings like Mr. Fezziwig pirouetting into his holiday gathering. Reaching over he had clasped Mary's hand finding her palm moist. Her fear regarding Carlisle remained so terribly deliberating. He did wish she would relax a bit on that point. They had been married three months now. She was the very proper wife of a war wounded solicitor. Her story became less marketable by the hour. Still he'd kept an eye on her during dinner, and remained quite awed by her poise. To the observer she looked the very picture of serenity. He supposed he should work on honing such skills himself, and tried to refocus on the conversation.

His employer Sir Peter Simon was holding his glass slightly aloft as he explained his point, "I have not trusted Lloyd George since the Marconi Scandal."

Lady Sarah chuckled observing, "Dearest I have never known you to trust anyone not in the conservative party."

Sir Richard laughed heartily as did Rosamund who announced merrily, "Well whoever could?"

"Well said, well said." The Duke called holding his glass aloft. As he watched the Duke sipping his claret, Matthew made a mental note to consider signing up for labor the next day, as well as instantly deciding to attend that McDonald speech Sybil had been mentioning.

As the Duke returned his glass to the table he said, "The war is over now. Bonar Law will soon return our fine traditions." He avowed in an overly satisfied way. "I belief the reverberations of war will soon subside, and we will return to the old, comfortable traditions."

A feminine voice queried from across the table, "You really believe things have changed so little?" Rosamund's tone was clear and strong, for she too was accustomed to having her words much considered, in her mind at least. Without waiting for the Duke's response she added, "I must say I do not agree. " As if anticipating argument Rosamund continued, "This is hardly my first war. I saw my father march to war, grew up at my grandfather's knee hearing tales of war, said many a prayer when my own dear brother went off to battle…. Wars change things, they always have…but this time feels quite different."

The Duke lifted his glass of wine angling his head focusing his attention on Rosamund, "In what way?"

"Oh in every way," Rosamund dismissed airily, and for a moment her words seemed almost irrelevant. Growing more purposeful, she continued, "Last week I walked through the park. I used to go there nearly every day. It was a routine of sorts. Now I can barely go…" As if feeling a need to explain her rationale she stated, "The sight of the poor dear soldiers, the wounded that will never feel, the rows of women in black, the mourning bands. It is so terribly, terribly difficult to endure. It saddens me as an Englishwoman to see such grief. Yet, I do go." She nodded as if affirming her own point. "I make myself stroll there from time to time." Seeing the Count's confused expression she explained, "You see I make myself face unpleasant things. One cannot go on forever ignoring the truth in lieu of proclaiming traditions that may well be finished."

The Duke seemed to consider her words for a moment replying. "I believe one ought to be very careful," He surmised running his finger over the lip of his glass. "One can become emotionally affected by the sight of such things and misjudge matters accordingly."

"And perhaps," Rosamund countered decidedly. "One can fail to notice vital societal changes." There was, Matthew thought, at her best moments something of a bulldog about Rosamund Painswick and at such moments he quite adored her.

Wanting to provide her some support, Matthew cleared his throat saying with the greatest of conviction, "Perhaps if you had seen more of the war you might better understand the changes."

Glancing around him nervously, the Duke kept quiet. Matthew thought perhaps he was waiting for someone to object. The table remained silent however. At length the Duke nodded uneasily granting, "Perhaps that would be true."

.~.~.~.~.

The soldier had made clean deep cuts at both of his wrists. He had been in the bath a quarter of an hour before his father found him. Had the drive to the clinic been longer he might have been lost. Quick work and light traffic had saved his life. Garrett had carefully stitched his right wrist, keeping each stitch neat and straight. "Your turn." He directed glancing up at her expectantly.

"What?" Sybil said confused and uncertain what he expected.

"Stitch his left."

"I've never done that."

He eyed her, "You have seen me do it. Now you must do it."

"But."

"Good lands woman. You want to be a physician you must learn the skills." He cried impatiently before adding slightly more evenly, "I'll be here should you need me."

Sybil nodded already reaching for the thread an determined expression on her face.

.~.~.~.~.

In spite of a few awkward moments, the dinner had gone exceeding well. The Duke had continued pontificating. Matthew had said little choosing to focus on the food and wine. He had caught Mary watching him, feeling an odd gratitude that she did not seem vexed but concerned. He tried to push the pleasure that concern caused him down. He did not want her worry wasted on him.

After the ladies departed the gentleman settled down at the table to enjoy a post meal; cigar and cognac. Blowing a smoke ring aloft Sir Richard inquired, "Duke what do you make of the Conference?"

"Well the division of the Ottoman Empire will require considerable thought and concern." He admitted with more concern than Matthew would have imagined. He rather envisioned the Duke riding across the desert screeching 'King and Country!' Turning to Matthew the Duke inquired, "Has Patrick shared his views on this issue."

"Not that I am aware of." Matthew answered after considering the matter. "Why?"

"Well he was much interested in Middle Eastern affairs." The Duke responded with an obvious affection. "We used to spend hours discussing the division of the lesser countries of the world." He sighed with obvious dismay before turning to speak to another guest.

As he did so, Richard rose from his seat crossing the room to take the seat next to Matthew saying, "You don't mind if I join you do you Crawley?"

"Not at all." He lied smoothly.

At heart Richard Carlisle was a ritualistic man as such he sat down slowly, adjusted the hem of his jacket and crossed one leg atop the other before speaking. "I understand you are now practicing as a barrister." He said lifting his cognac and sniffing it. "How do you find your exposure to that side of life?"

"Remarkably unchanged from the other side of life." Matthew snorted disdainfully.

Carlisle surprised him by smiling saying thinly, "Clever."

"Criminals really are similar regardless of their bankbooks." As priggish a statement as it was, he was discovering it was also terribly truthful.

"You have a clever way with words." Richard complimented releasing a long smoky breath. "Perhaps you would like to enter my trade."

Chuckling Matthew answered, "I think not. I leave such business to your capable hands."

Sir Richards seemed to contemplate his words for a mere instant before inquiring, "Do you think us so different then Mr. Crawley?" He pronounced the name as if speaking a profanity. "For in my eyes you and I are more far more alike than you might believe."

Matthew glanced over at him a disbelieving expression crossing his features. "I fail to see that."

"Do you really?" An almost simian shade crossed Carlisle's eyes. "Were we not both born to a lower station of life? A station for all your vanity you were happy enough to shed to enter a life of valets and landed estates. Admittedly," He acknowledged in a self-congratulatory tone, "I have climbed, whereas your ascension was more an improbable accident of chance." He said darkly, "Had Captain Smith reduced the knots but a few, you would be scrawling some elderly widow's last estate offering her biscuits and hoping for a bit of her largesse to better support an elderly mother." Chuckling he added coolly, "Certainly women of Miss Swire and Lady Mary's estate would never be interested in one like you. No, a nation's tragedy was your making. Still we both climbed." He said as if offering a crumb of charity." Despite a growing rancor Matthew merely listened. "Further we both saw the allure of one woman. We both found ways of securing her to ourselves."

"You are comparing my marriage to Mary to your enslavement of her affections via blackmail and threats."

Sir Richard shrugged amiably, "We both wanted the same prize. We both followed our ends. You won and I lost. Or perhaps Mary lost." He said smiling as his well-aimed arrow hit the target. "As she will surely recognize."

"You believe Mary regrets marrying me."

"Oh certainly not," He intoned darkly, "Not yet. Anyone who sees her notices her awe of her poor wounded pet. But alas how long can such sterile affection last?" He drawled his question with ponderous severity. "In a year or two, nursing your broken spirit, watching your banal career, spending nights providing you solace and good spirits will scarcely seem enough for a woman of Lady Mary's spirit and soul. And she will soon begin to taste regret and feel a desire…and of course you will feel nothing and can offer her nothing." Matthew felt his fingers curling into a fist, Sir Richard observed it and laughed, "What a perfectly impotent gesture. How very, very frustrating this must be." He hissed energetically. "Surrounded by two men Mary would better have married. Surrounded by men far more successful than you. Poor, poor Matthew Crawley a crippled solicitor no longer heir, no longer a real husband, no longer much of anything just a sympathetic pet the family cares for like an old useless mongrel no one can quite bear to put to death."

"Carlisle!" Matthew spat feeling his fury rising and yet feeling utterly incapable of doing anything.

As if reading his mood Carlisle rose uttering, "I won't cause you the embarrassment of trying to lash out in your crippled fashion. I shall depart with the best of wishes. And do offer the lovely Lady Mary my regards. Advise her I shall be waiting should she need support or other favors." He smiled a very thin lipped smile. "It is much in fashion you know ladies soliciting another man when their husband is unable to…perform martial duties." Stepping away from Matthew he said, "Good evening all," He called sauntering out of the room and down the hall as grandly as if he were the King himself. Watching him go, Matthew reached for his cognac and swallowed a mouthful relishing the burning sensation that traveled down his throat and enflamed his inner chest.

.~.~.~.~.

While the ladies about her tittered nonsensically about some social gathering, she had absolutely zero interest in attending, Mary isolated Rosamund in the corner of the drawing room demanding, "Why did you invite him?"

"I know he's such a bore!" Rosamund conceded with a sympathetic sigh, "But he is family and at least he cannot bring his damn bagpipes."

"Who are you talking about?"

"Shrimpy." She replied as if no other choice existed.

Mary pressed her fingers to her temple, "Sir Richard!"

"Oh," Rosamund said dismissively. "Well after the last time I assumed if I did not invite him, he would simply appear. Besides," She stated with a small smile. "He does add panache and drama. And you know I simply must inject each of those into any of my soirées."

"Good heavens." Mary said shaking her head and crossing to join another group.

As she did so Agnes Fairfax the daughter of an old friend approached Rosamund, "Is everything alright with Lady Mary?"

"Fine." Rosamund assured her adding brightly, "She is just so very dramatic!"

.~.~.~.~.

The other gentleman had gone in to join the ladies, Matthew alone chose to linger in the dining room nursing a second cognac. He had thrown the last one back in two gulps needing the burn and a distraction from Carlisle's words. His consumption of his second drink was more thoughtful. Brooding had become something of a permanent state for him since his accident. Mary tried to offset it with records, books and humor and thought herself more successful than she truly was. Still tonight was a bit much for him and he was not eager for her to recognize that and thus return them to the old arguments about how he really was not a cripple, had so very much to live for, could live a full and happy life. So he chose to sit alone and pull himself together before facing her. Taking stock of his feelings he decided Carlisle had taken his measure quite fairly. The man despicable as he might be had not spoken one untrue word. He was impotent and useless and not unlike a mutt the family really needed to be rid of… He certainly did not intend for Mary to waste years caring for him. She could not squander her youth, her chance for a real marriage with a real man to care for a crippled cousin. Nor could he face the notion she would begin to look at him with pity and regret. No, no, he decided that must not happen. Mary must have a real marriage a real chance at happiness. Sir Carlisle's words had merely affirmed in him a decision. He would secure her reputation and then he would release the family from the obligation of his care and his presence. The comfort in that assurance tempered his mood and he took his next glass of cognac not unlike a meditative tonic.

.~.~.~.~.

Garrett glanced down at the patient's wrist inspecting her work with a critical gaze, Sybil watched him feeling a sourness spreading across her stomach. If she had failed or was not competent at this thing she wanted so much… "A few of these could have been a bit tighter, but it's a good enough start. You should work at it.. Stitches may seem a small thing but the small things form the bigger ones."

"Of course." She agreed lowering her gaze, feeling more pleased than she cared to reveal.

Reaching for a pack of cigarettes Garret removed one asking, "Do you want a bit of his history?"

"Naturally." Sybil said busying herself clearing matters up. The nurse's passion for tidiness had not left her.

"Name is John Gutherie." Garrett explained inhaling the nicotine taking it deep within his lungs. "He was wounded at the Strait of Otranto."

"Seriously?"

Exhaling a long stream of smoke he shook his head. "Shell shock."

"Shouldn't he be at Craiglockhart." During her training the nurses had spoken of a miraculous near mythical Dr. Rivers. Sybil had read all of his texts and was impressed with his work.

"He was for a time." Garrett stood relishing his cigarette for a moment. "He's been in several clinics."

"But it isn't working?"

"No." He said quietly. "But in this world what is anymore?" The resignation in his tone was palpable.

.~.~.~.~.

Not long after the gentleman had joined the ladies, Matthew watched Lady Sarah strolling purposefully in his direction. Throughout dinner he had noticed her taking unobtrusive frequent glances in his direction. He had thought her gaze a result of the discussion. After the meal and his discussion with Carlisle he was not much in the mood of company. Apparently his wife recognized this, as Mary was standing across the room discussing some rubbish gossip with the Dutchess. When he had rolled in he had seen a frank curiosity on her face however as she was standing with others she could not pose the questions he knew she burned to ask. Due to the company he had merely conveyed Richard's greeting and news of his departure. Mary had merely nodded and after excusing himself to the Dutchess he rolled off to find a bit of solitude, letting Mary return to the gossip she reveled in… Mary was so involved her conversation that she failed to notice the older woman leaning down whispering to her husband, "Might we take a bit of air on the terrace?" Then with few words, Lady Sarah pushed Matthew outside, movements that were surprisingly strong and certain for a woman of her breeding.

The February night was brisk, yet pleasant. In the trenches he had grown used to the bracing chill of winter evenings and in his more sedentary existence he missed the exhilaration of the cool air pressing against his skin. Therefore, he lifted his chin toward the breeze letting it soak in like a balm.

Immersed as he was in his own thoughts, Lady Sarah was almost forgotten and her voice startled him when she absently asked, "I hope you don't mind my pushing you."

"Not at all." Matthew reassured her, even as he half wondered if she was even listening to him. "At night it can be difficult to find one's way."

"I got very used to these tasks with…. My son." She paused near the edge of the terrace, and Matthew heard the determined intake of breath. He realized that for Lady Sarah every mention of her son drew her closer to tears, and it required mighty struggle to avoid such remonstrations. At length she confessed evenly without the slightest emotion, "I am certain you are questioning why I brought you out here."

"Mildly." He admitted with a practiced easy smile. "But then again I am always along for the ride." Watching her expression, he realized his darker humor had missed her entirely. He quickly interjected, "Of course I am interested."

Drawing a breath as if preparing herself, Lady Sarah explained, "Sir Peter desires that I re-involve myself in society." Uncertain why she was confessing such information, Matthew simply nodded remaining mutedly silent. "Before….well before… I was becoming active in war work." Again Matthew sat quietly waiting out her pauses even if uncertain why she was pausing. More brusquely she added, "Lady Prudence Fairfax has asked me to assist her on her committee."

"I met her once while having luncheon with Rosamund." Matthew acknowledged adding, "She seemed very interesting."

Lady Simon smiled saying candidly, "Pru can be a tad frivolous, however she is a dear one, and she works very hard for her committees. Her current project is arranging for the care and adoption of war orphans."

"A laudable cause." Matthew agreed realizing he sounded precisely like Reginald Crawley. He inwardly cringed at the notion.

"I am not so certain." She admitted ruefully. "Pru's efforts generally speak more to her enthusiasm than to their actualization." She admitted with a gentle laugh, "But she is a very kind and good woman and I feel safer returning to such waters with a friend."

"That makes sense." Matthew agreed. He still had no idea why she was discussing any of this with him, but being a solicitor had taught him the value of patience.

"I'm not entirely certain," She began in the most hesitant of voices, but whatever she was about to say was lost as a familiar voice rang out across the terrace.

"Oh here you are," Mary's voice called as she hurried over toward them. "I was wondering where you were." She said gifting Matthew with an affectionate smile. "I hope I'm not interrupting anything." She said glancing over at Lady Simon. Her tone implied she had not the slightest concern about interrupting anything.

"Quite the opposite," Sarah reassured her, instantly altering her tone. "I was speaking to your husband about an issue I would also like your assistance with."

"I see." Mary said inquiring with practiced if minimal interest, "And that would be?"

"Assisting war orphans," She explained succinctly. "Ensuring they are properly cared for and homes are found for them."

"Hmmm." Mary stated blandly.

Fighting to disguise his smirk at his wife's absolute lack of interest Matthew questioned, "What does this have to do with myself and Lady Mary?"

"I was hoping you could assist me with some legal advice." Peeling her glove back slightly she continued, "Sir Peter said he could spare you an afternoon a week if you were agreeable."

Matthew nodded his head agreeing, "Of course."

"Lady Mary," Sara continued rubbing the peeled back silk. "I was also hoping that further down the line you could assist me with planning luncheons and so forth raising awareness of the issue."

Mary's smile was smooth and unreadable as she granted, "Of course."

"Very well then." Sarah said giving them a wan smile. "I will contact you with subsequent information." They both offered matching nods, watching her stroll back into the house.

Seeing her vanish into the house Mary observed archly, "That was very strange."

Frowning Matthew said, "Why do you say that?"

"Well first they move you into criminal law. Now you are handling adoptions and orphan care." Furrowing her brow Mary asked, "Darling have you been promoted or demoted?"

Matthew chuckled, "Merely loaned for charity."

"Well that really is the cheek." Mary fretted sighing irritably, "You work far too many hours. Then you come home and slave away hours more in your study. Do they care nothing for your health and well-being? How can they place more on you?"

Catching the anxiety and concern in her words, Matthew chose to address the question most carefully. "I have told you to accept more engagements. You should not be stuck at home nights reading because of my work." He wanted Mary's concern to be for her life, her possibilities not his limited useless ones. Allowing her to worry over him led to dangerous waters. It would simply mean to much to him, make him even fonder of her if she sat about concerning herself over him. He wasn't worth her feelings anyway and needed to check such emotions when they emerged.

"I prefer to be at home with you. You know that." She reminded him tenderly placing her hand along his arm. "I only worry for your health."

"You needn't." He dismissed coldly.

Ignoring his tone she smiled, "So we are performing charity for war orphans then." She said coming behind his wheelchair and wheeling him toward the house, for she too was learning to check Matthew's dismissals of her feelings for him.

.~.~.~.~.

In the small curtained area where John Guthrie was assigned, Sybil looked at his bandaged wrists. Garrett had left traveled home at her urging. He looked worn and she felt there was considerably more to the story than he was telling. Still, she was content to watch over Guthrie. She had been doing so for just over two hours when she heard him begin mumbling.

Reaching over she clasped his hand saying, "You are quiet alright."

He watched her groaning for a moment, coming back to himself she realized before mumbling, "A pretty nurse. Is this Heaven?"

"You are in Major Garrett's clinic."

"Oh hell." He spat dejectedly. "I am right back in hell."

.~.~.~.~.

Emerging from the bathroom, Mary's features twisted into a gentle frown at the sight of Sybil's darkened bedroom. She and Matthew had left Rosamund's gathering a bit early. Despite his assurances otherwise she could read a mixture of exhaustion and concern via his slumped shoulders and demeanor. Arriving home she had expected to find Sybil and Patrick giggling at their exploits, and avoidance of the gathering. Instead, Edwards said Mr. Patrick had taken a sleeping draught, and her sister had not returned. Mary realized that she was going to have to have a serious talk with Sybil. Her work was scandalous enough without questions being raised about the hours she was keeping.

Shaking her head she walked down the hall opening her bedroom door. Her pupils narrowed adjusting to the dimness of the room. A single silhouette of light emanated from the lamp on Mary's bedside table. Matthew was sitting up in bed, he preferred Edwards to place him in bed when she was not about, wearing a ghastly pair of blue and white striped pajamas. Glancing over at him she saw he was reading a legal brief despite extinguishing his own lamp.

"You should turn on the light." She advised padding toward her makeup table.

"My eyes are mercifully one of the healthier parts of my body." He observed gruffly.

Easing down onto the bench Mary said, "And if you keep doing that they will no longer function as well." Opening her hand cream she said conversationally, "Sybil's still not in." She frowned dipping her fingers into the cool cream saying, "I thought she was simply ducking out on Aunt Rosamund's party."

"Which was quiet a brilliant idea." Matthew said glancing up from the newspaper he was reading. "The next time we are invited can you feign a terrible head cold?"

"Ladies do not develop head colds." Mary drawled in the superior voice she knew Matthew so fancied. His dry laughter rewarded her efforts.

"Well then inform the hostess your poor crippled husband cannot attend."

She turned saying coldly, "You know I cannot stand you calling yourself that." He regarded her with no emotion. It was a disagreement they seemed incapable of resolving, and she was too tired to carry on with it tonight. "And I do not know what you are going on about anyway. The evening was quite lovely."

"You must be joking." He retorted fixing her with a shocked expression.

"I thought it was perfectly fine," She insisted replacing the top of the cream before rising. Crossing the room she shucked her dressing gown, laying it across the foot of the bed.

"Fine is the very last word I would use to describe that gathering." He stated laying the legal brief aside.

"What in the world are you talking about?" She asked crawling under the sheets Matthew held up for her.

"The mutterings of that self-congratulatory twit." He said his face twisting into an unpleasant expression.

Mary smiled saying, "You are still unaccustomed to how the aristocracy behaves."

"Self congratulatory and spineless."

Mary adjusted the blankets saying, "The Duke has simply been afforded great attention and deference. Such practices warp one's perception of matters."

"Mary he was an utter prat."

Turning Mary faced him with a look of incredulousness which bordered on shock, "Whatever are you talking about."

"All that dribble about the proper class and conservative politics."

She rolled her eyes, "I did not find it excessive." She admitted with a slight shrug, "Anyway now that we're both settled can we continue the conversation we began in the car." Under the blanket she subtly shifted her foot, resting it along his lower calf. The floor had chilled her feet and she found the skin under his pajama trousers was always quite toasty.

"I thought we had deferred that discussion."

"No you refused to discuss it in the car." She reminded him her voice taking on a tone of utter peevishness.

"And you waited until we were in bed and I could not…" He felt rising irritation, and yet an odd lack of surprise. He was becoming accustomed to how his wife's thought processes operate. Not always pleased at the realizations, but accustomed none the less.

Clearly sharing absolutely none of his irritation, Mary smiled most serenely. "I thought that was terribly clever of me."

Matthew scowled saying only, "We had a brief conversation which involved politics, the journalism and legal trades, and female concerns."

"You discussed female concerns with Richard Carlisle?" She responded in surprise, "Goodness that must have been an extraordinarily interesting conversation."

"Quite." He answered the question in such a perfunctory tone, brokering little room for further questioning. She said nothing even as he felt her gaze remaining fixed on him. "What?"

Mary released a breath saying, "Matthew you must be careful. " Seeing an incredulous expression cross his face she said, "Richard may be a trace ridiculous and quite begs to be kidded. But," She reminded firmly, "He's a dangerous man and he has the power to destroy people."

"You mean you." He prompted with an odd certainty. "He does not, Mary. Not anymore." Tuning his head he softened his voice reaching for his hand, as he continued imploringly, "My darling. You are my wife. Regardless of your past you are properly married. The past is just that the past."

Mary glanced at their joined hands admitting, "One does feel ones mistakes are always lying in wait to ensnare one." A smile spreading across her face she said, "But you are correct the longer we are married, the less I need concern myself. " She squeezed his hand confiding, "Why in five years' time I shall never have to give the matter any thought whatsoever." She laughed at the notion. "Considering what the last five years have wrought, I do wonder where we shall be in five years' time." She closed her eyes a happy smile playing across her face at the image of she and Matthew a few years into their marriage.

Beside her in the darkness Matthew heard Carlisle's words echoing in his head, strengthening his conviction as he promised wistfully, "In five years I am convinced you shall be very happy."

.~.~.~.~.


	18. Chapter 18

This chapter started out being a transition let's get everyone to Downton for the wedding chapter. Then it became something quite different. I'm very curious what you will make of it. Reviews would make my weekend.

..~.~.~.~.

Of course Lavinia had arrived two days early, Mary thought with a rueful chuckle. That was just her luck. Matthew's spurned and clearly still enamored ex-fiancée at her home for two entire days before the wedding. Only Edith would think of such a thing. Really Edith was just impossible. From the day she had arrived she had made Mary's life terribly difficult. Squalling as a baby, creating awkward social situations as an adult… It was all of the same fashion and all terribly, terribly irritating. Sometimes Mary regretted that she had not followed through with some of the schemes she had crafted in her Murder Edith book. Selling her to traveling gypsies really would have saved a great deal of trouble. Glancing up she saw a familiar blonde smiling back at her in the mirror's reflection. Returning the smile she acknowledged, "It's nice to have your company again."

"And yours as well." Anna agreed with a gentle smile. "How are you liking your new ladies maid?"

Mary sighed dramatically, "She's about as bright as an unlit candle and half as useful. Half the time I dress myself and just hope she does not torture my hair."

"I am certain she will learn in time."

"If I was half as certain I'd feel a great deal more satisfied." Mary remarked dismally. Anna glanced down hiding her overly pleased expression. "Can you let Mr. Crawley know…." Stopping herself with an amused chuckle Mary said, "I am sorry Anna I'm so accustomed to Mr. Crawley being in the next room." Frowning she added, "He should be here."

Her mother had telephoned and asked her to come a few days early to assist with preparations. Mary could think of no real reason to delay and Matthew had arranged a few days off from his firm, and Sybil from the clinic. They and Patrick were to journey down on the morning train. They had all been on the platform together. Mary had gone ahead to get settled in the compartment, they were to join her in an instant. Though somehow and she was not sure quite how she alone was at Downton. She swore though it certainly could not have been true she had seen Patrick and Sybil hurriedly pushing Matthew's chair away through the crowd…

"Perhaps the train is just a bit late." Anna clucked sympathetically.

"Yes." Mary agreed determinedly. "I am sure he will be here soon." Taking a last look at herself in the mirror, and feeling exceedingly pleased with the reflection, she said, "I shall go down and await their arrival."

A fond smile crossed Anna's lips as she said, "You really love him."

"What?"

"Mr. Matthew you really do love him." It was a statement.

Mary fixed her with an enigmatic smile saying, "Well he is my husband."

"Yes milady," Anna agreed softly a small smile playing on her compressed lips.

.~.~.~.~.

Descending the stairs Mary thought how perfectly right it felt to be at Downton. Oh she adored living with Matthew in London, but Downton was a part of her blood. She never felt quite complete when she was away from the estate. Walking down the final steps she took in the artwork, the paneling, the very essence of the house. How she had missed her old home. How good it did feel to be back in the place she loved so well. Strolling into the library she saw her father standing by the mantle a glass of scotch in his hand. Glancing over at her his smile brightened. "Well you do look quite the picture. Matthew is a very lucky man to have such a stunning bride."

"Oh I think I am the lucky one." She demurred softly, girlishly pleased by her father's words.

A soft tut tut clearing of throat caused them both to look up. "Excuse me my lord," Carson intoned.

"Carson!" Mary's smile broadened as she said, "How lovely to see you."

"And you to my lady." He greeted her almost shyly, incapable of keeping a smile off his face. More seriously he added, "You received a telegram."

Lord Grantham furrowed his brow. "We have not received one of these in a good while." He distractedly ripped at the envelope Carson handed him saying, "I do hope nothing is amiss." Carson nodded retreating from the room. "Oh," Robert exclaimed with a gentle chuckle.

"What does it say Papa?" Mary questioned, anxiously glancing at the clock and noticing the time. Matthew really should have been there by now. And of it there had been accident… A hundred different images danced across her imagination leaving her deeply frightened.

"It seems your sister; your husband and your brother-in-law have somehow missed a second train." He chuckled again, "They are a trio for getting into scrapes."

"What did you say?" An aggrieved voice called from the door.

Robert looked up the casual jest vanishing as he saw his middle daughter's saddened expression. "My dear it seems Patrick, Sybil and Matthew somehow missed the last train, but not to worry they say they will make the milk train." He said walking over toward her. "They will miss dinner but, but they should all be here when you awake." He assured in the jolliest tone he could muster.

Edith glanced downward before raising her head and saying hopefully, "I am sure he will."

Her tone was so woeful even Mary could not help feeling sorry for her sister. It was a quiet few moments as the three waited for the rest of the party.

.~.~.~.~.

"Where is Matthew?" Lavinia questioned not long after the soup had been served.

"He and Patrick and Sybil missed their train." Robert answered lifting his spoon.

"How very unfortunate." Lavinia replied casting a questioning glance at Mary.

Mary remained silent keeping her own counsel. The mechanics and probability of her husband missing two trains seemed to her quite against his very nature. Matthew was exceedingly punctual and frankly a tad boorish about such things. The more she considered the train station the more yes she was convinced Sybil and Patrick were pushing Matthew not toward but away from the train. Yes, she was absolutely sure they were pushing him away. Why precisely they would do such a thing was occupying her mind, brushing aside boorish dinner conversation.

"It is such a shame," Cora agreed fretfully. "I am certain it must have to do with transporting Matthew and his chair. They probably did not prepare sufficient time. It's so difficult to travel with an invalid."

"Cora," Robert scolded coldly.

"Robert I cannot help what I think."

Mary rolled her eyes as the servants brought the next course.

.~.~.~.~.

As the waiter hurried away with their orders Matthew turned to his sister-in-law speaking loudly so as to be heard over the noisy conversations of the club and the rat tat tat of the band playing away on a stage across the room, "You said I missed the train." Matthew snapped adding pointedly. "I am always punctual."

"I said we missed the train." Sybil corrected him lifting her cocktail to her lips.

"Mary will never believe that!" Matthew stated eyeing her from across the table. "And why did you not telephone?"

"Because Mary won't believe we missed the train." Sybil answered matter of factly. "And I certainly did not feel in the mood for a lecture from her."

Matthew shook his head saying, "You do act if she was a bullying school master."

Sybil considered that thought for a moment before agreeing, "She would be very good in that profession."

"Or military dictator." Patrick added rejoining the conversation by turning his attention from the band, though he continued tapping his nails along with the beat.

Matthew chuckled saying, "She is really not like that. Not the true Mary."

"The true Mary," Patrick repeated as if mulling the concept. "You have met her."

After pondering the question for a long moment Matthew replied certainly, "Yes I have."

.~.~.~.~.

Leaving Robert to his cigar, the ladies retired to the sitting room after dinner. However, they were a quiet distracted group. Mary had stomped off muttering about telephoning Grantham House. Edith took a seat across the room clearly distraught but trying to put on a good show, and not doing a very job. Cora seemed to be flitting about worrying over flowers and food.

Wandering around the room Lavinia felt a fretful uncertainty. Oh she was never very good at social situations. Certainly she could handle the odd dinner and dance, but she never felt terribly clever or modern. This situation felt the murkiest of waters and she felt quiet ill prepared for the task. She had come for Edith of course, and due to a naked curiosity about Matthew but the situation made her so very, very uncomfortable. She had no notion what to do or say so she moved about the room saying nothing until Cora approached her. "This must be so terribly awkward for you," She cooed sympathetically.

"Not at all." Lavina demurred purposefully glancing downward. "I only wish I could comfort Edith."

"Yes," Cora stated distractedly. "Still I am sure Patrick will arrive in the morning."

"Of course he will."

"I only wish," Cora began speculatively then shook her head and let the thought drop.

It was an obviously theatrical move, Lavinia recognized her role was to coax the information from her. "Do tell me?" Lavinia urged aiming for curious and hopefully just barely avoiding desperate.

Cora hesitated or seemed to before confessing softly, "I only wish Matthew had stayed behind in London." Lavinia swallowed a little gasp of surprise as Cora hurriedly added, "Oh I mean him no ill will. I do love Matthew. It's only," She said pensively. "It's only that it is so difficult to see my daughter so conflicted."

"Conflicted." Lavinia repeated the word dumbly uncertain of her meaning.

"Surely you see," Cora said leaning in closer lowering her tone still further, "How very comfortable Mary is back at Downton."

Lavinia nodded saying, "Of course."

"This is the life she expected to have." Cora cooed softly. "I trained her to run a house like this, to preside over dinners, to be at ease with the highest classes."

"You succeed quite grandly," Lavinia complimented her sincerely. "Mary has all the necessary graces and charms."

Frowning Cora lamented, "And what did all that training do… A life as a middle class solicitor's wife is hardly fulfilling. Inviting the boss over for dinner, chatting about Matthew's legal cases, rubbing around other lower class individuals... It is scarcely the life I expected for my daughter."

"But she loves Matthew."

"Oh I have little doubt that she is very fond of him," Cora granted in the most begrudging of tones. "I am certain she retains some affection for the man she knew before the war. Still," She shook her head slightly stating, "I do fear marriage has chilled her affections."

"Whatever makes you say that?"

"Have you not observed how distracted and upset Mary has seen this evening?"

"Well yes of course," Lavinia agreed quickly adding, "But I presumed it was the result of Matthew's absence."

Cora's lips turned and she appeared almost bemused, "Matthew has let her down again. And worse still this weekend when the other ladies are dancing, or walking in to dinner on their husband's arms Mary will be left to push a chair." She let her words soak in a bit before stating, "No I fear my daughter's disenchantment is beginning."

"That is quite distressing." Lavinia admitted casting a glance to ensure Mary had not reentered the room.

"Very," Cora agreed before saying more pointedly. "But perhaps things will work out for the best."

"Whatever do you mean?"

"Well," She said with a fond smile, "You must know we all felt you would be such a splendid wife for Matthew."

Looking down Lavinia merely protested stating, "But Mary is his wife."

"For the moment," Cora agreed with a vague smile. "But if Mary were to desire an annulment one could be easily arranged. That may well be in the works. Only," She said pausing and meeting Lavinia's eyes, "I do hope if that were to happen you would be there for Matthew." Then without further comment Cora strolled to the other side of the room leaving Lavinia alone and terribly, terribly confused.

.~.~.~.~.

A lazy smoke ring floated before him causing Robert to smile. Despite his age, Robert had never lost a young man's fondness for cigars. He liked the ceremony of after dinner cigars, the smell, the ritual of smoking and finishing an after dinner cognac. That it had become a solitary habit, bothered him less than it should he supposed. Still hearing a familiar click of heels he turned smiling in surprise at the sight of his eldest daughter studying him. "This is a surprise."

"You know I should hate to become predictable." Mary reminded him strolling toward the empty seat beside his. "May I join you?"

"Of course," Robert consented jovially. "Are you so modern I should offer you a cigar?"

Mary merely arched a brow replying, "No thank you. But I would not object to a Cognac."

Carson looked appalled, but quickly schooled his expressions and walked over with a glass. "It's a new world Carson." Robert announced sounding slightly bemused.

"Indeed your Lordship." Carson agreed retreating.

"I am afraid I've quite shocked him." Mary observed smiling at Robert.

"Quite possibly," Robert acknowledged taking a draw on his cigar. "Carson and I are old dogs, these modern ways quite confuse us."

"Would you prefer I returned to the ladies?"

Robert shook his head, "Of course not." He said removing his cigar from his mouth. "Did you contact Matthew?"

"Indirectly," Mary sighed sounding slightly irritated. "Edwards said they went out to dinner."

A smile crossed Robert's face as he stated, "After their day they deserve a night on the town."

"I am certain they view it precisely that way." Mary agreed skeptically. An odd doubt working her brows...

Robert hardly the most perceptive of men did not notice this expression. Rather he was struck by the loveliness of her expression and of her pretty dress. Daughters had always been a mystery to him, yet seeing her he was struck by an odd sense of time and its passage across a lifetime. "I say," He said at length, "I suppose I do not have the right words for this," He seemed a little uncertain but pushed on anyway, "He does make you happy?"

Mary looked up and for a moment her façade fell away and a look of genuine puzzlement crossed her face. "I never expected you to doubt Matthew's worth." The dig was subtle, terribly subtle, yet piercing causing Robert to look down at his cigar. Her pique subsided Mary replied, "I believe he will make me very happy."

"Will?" Robert queried uncomfortable but unwilling not to ask.

"Papa you remember the first year of marriage."

Images of that first year floated before him causing a rueful smile to appear, "I do."

A slight flush colored Mary's features, she said only, "Papa you know me. I always fully intended to have the very best of matches."

"And you believe you have?" He quiered softly adding, "Even without…children."

Mary glanced up at him a reassuring expression on her face, "I have made the best match Papa."

A smile crossed Robert's face as he patted her hand. "Then as your father I am very happy." Mary's smile which had been tentative, poised became enormous.

.~.~.~.~.

"Whatever did Mama keep you so long in the corner discussing?" Edith asked when Lavinia joined her in a chair near the fire. Her words followed a long silence. Neither had felt need to feed words into a difficult situation so they had sat comfortable in the silence resting between them watching the flames as if expecting the wisdom of Delphi to originate from the orange and gold colors.

"Matthew." She admitted the notion of lying or shading her previous conversation having never entered her mind.

"I see." Edith replied. Seemingly without conscious thought she added in the tiredest of tones, "You must not think her a reliable narrator of that story."

Lavinia frowned feeling small butterflies of uncertainly forming in her abdomen. "Whatever do you mean?"

"Mama has a perspective on Matthew and his worth." Edith explained with little emotion. "She wants grandchildren and social position. Matthew cannot provide such things. In her mind that makes him quite useless."

It was as blunt and matter of fact statement as she had ever heard Edith make. And Lavinia just could not make herself accept Edith's words. Needing to rebut the notion Cora might be wrong Lavina added in a challenging tone, "Surely thought Mary is her daughter. And Mary loves society."

"Mary is like Mama in some ways." Edith granted with a bemused smirk. "But on the subject of Matthew they are of quite different minds."

"Your mother thinks them unhappy." Lavinia confessed stealing only a brief look up at Edith surprised to find her smiling.

"I think just the opposite." Edith stated with a surprising amount of conviction.

"But you have not been much in their company." She was grasping, fiddling for any tangible evidence.

"That is true," Edith acknowledged with a distracted tone, quickly adding, "But from Sybil and Patrick I have heard quite enough to decide they are happy enough."

"I am glad of that." Lavinia said softly, undecided if she truly was or only felt she ought to be.

.~.~.~.~.

"What you said earlier," Patrick goaded staring meaningfully over at Matthew. Sybil had gone off to do whatever ladies did in the powder rooms. Matthew and Patrick were left to their own druthers, and initially felt little compulsion for conversation. Still, as the third song ended Patrick turned toward Matthew asking him, "About seeing the true Mary. Do you believe that?"

Turning his tumbler upward Matthew let the whisky roll down his throat. Returning his glass to the table he paused before saying, "Yes I do." As the band began another song, a sentimental piece of rubbish Matthew quite detested he returned his attention to Patrick inquiring, "Why do you ask?"

Patrick lifted his brows saying, "I don't know really…. I just wondered if that wasn't a lot of silly nonsense. Novels and ballads, not real life."

"You must know Edith."

"She knows me." Patrick allowed taping the table with his nails. "Knows me better than I know meself."

Matthew stared into his glass contemplating the appropriate response. Finally settling on, "That may make it easier to find yourself."

"One might hope." He granted resting his hand atop the table. "I hoped as much."

There was an air of finality to his words; it reminded Matthew of men who would speak of death not as probability but as a certainty. As if they had read a novel and thumbed ahead to the end and knew perfectly well how the story would end…. "I am certain…" Matthew began only to find the words turning to dust atop his tongue. And he failed to find any, choosing therefore to lapse into silence. Letting the noise of the room and the music of the band overpower the questions forming in his mind.

.~.~.~.~.

Slipping under the cool sheets Lavinia reached over to extinguish the lamp. The Countess had placed her in her old room. It was a kindness on her part to remember so small a thing. It had felt a bit of déjà vu returning to Downton, sleeping in her old room, and now waiting for Matthew's return. She half -believed she could close her eyes and reopen them to find it a year or two earlier. Her pretty engagement ring would be on her finger, and in the morning Matthew would stride into the Abbey, so terribly, terribly handsome in his scarlet coat, calling, "Hello darling!" How right it had felt then…being held in his arms, walking into dinner on his arm, exchanging shy smiled over glasses of champagne. All her life Lavinia had dreamed of a great romance and Captain Matthew Crawley had seemed the most ideal of suitors. Even if Downton seemed a bit too grand for her, she had been certain she and Matthew would have been the happiest of couples. They would sit and discuss poetry, and then he would kiss her sweetly before tucking her into his side at night. It had all seemed so wonderfully perfect and achingly possible. And it had all ended… It had ended downstairs mere months before and she still was not sure why…

Yet perhaps it was not all over. The Countess' words reverberated in her head. If she was correct, and Lavinia could imagine no reason she would not be, then perhaps there was…hope. Edith did not really know Mary, she reckoned, perhaps she was wrong. She must be wrong. Oh she did not wish Mary unhappiness, still she had never questioned that she could be the very best wife to Matthew. The daughter of a solicitor, she knew the ways and characters of the London legal community. In her hands she would cultivate Matthew's career inviting the right people to dinner, supporting him, discussing legal theories with him… oh it would be so fitting were they to reconcile. The happy thought caused her to smile as she fell into dreams of her and Matthew's bright future.

.~.~.~.~.

Nearing one Matthew and Sybil sat alone in the quiet compartment. A combination of adrenaline and alcohol had fueled their evening and sleep seemed impossibility even now. As such they had purchased tickets in a compartment and told the man to leave the seats upright. Patrick had stepped out on to the platform saying he needed a breath of air before the trip.

Almost as soon as the compartment door closed, Sybil focused her attention on Matthew. He had been increasingly quiet as the evening went on. He assured her nothing was amiss, however she knew Matthew well enough to see he was holding back. She knew also he could, if not jollied out of it as Mary seemed so capable of doing, fall into moods of increasing bleakness. Sybil did not want that to happen. Thus after a moment she found herself observing, "You seem pensive." Trying to offset her words she offered a wry smile in his direction.

"Pensive." Matthew repeated the word as if unfamiliar with its meaning. "I believe I have been in a constant state of pensivity since 1914."

"Clever using a joke to offset my correct diagnosis," She remarked in the most unamused voice she could muster.

Matthew's face relaxed a bit, the tension ever so slightly defused. "Excuse me Dr. Freud trying to sneak a spy past you."

"Are you worried Mary will be upset at you?" It would be silly, she thought to worry, Mary was going to upset. Why worry about a thing one had no power of changing.

"The cripple in the chair." He quipped amusedly. "No it was you two that pushed poor, helpless me away."

"I don't recall you objecting." She noted enjoying their banter.

"Then I shall have to come up with a particularly clever excuse."

"Do not try and use your charm to distract me from my initial question."

Matthew pursued his lips before saying, "You are becoming entirely to willy Dr. Crawley." Her expression reminded him of the unanswered question that lay between them. Circling back to that question he proffered, "Do you sense a certain reluctance in Patrick's behavior?"

"Reluctance," Sybil repeated the word dumbly, while perfectly aware of his meaning. "Whatever do you mean?"

He fixed her with a doubting expression noting, "He has spent weeks and weeks with us. Today a mere three days before his marriage, he engineers an event to cause another delay. Not the typical actions of an excited bridegroom."

"He wanted a last night." Sybil defended even as she recognized the oddness in the choice.

Angling his head Matthew frowned saying, "So he says. I only wonder why…" He said rubbing his leg distractedly. "Back in 14 nothing, not one thing would have dragged me from your sister's side if she had said yes."

"Not even a bachelor dinner that I could crash and smoke cigars at?"

"Nothing." Seeing Sybil was studying him, he continued his explanation in a faltering tone as if careful of admitting more than he should. "I am only concerned that he and Edith are embarking on a marriage with very different ideas of what that marriage will entail."

"Granny says in marriage everyone goes down the aisle with half the story."

"You approve of that." Matthew challenged the slightest touch of challenge in his tone.

"Not particularly." Sybil admitted turning to peer into the darkness. "Lately though I think everything is so uncertain one can never know how a thing will turn out."

Badly as he wanted to object, Matthew witnessed only truth in her words and as such could not object and fell into a true pensive silence.

.~.~.~.~.

The past kept Robert awake all that long night. Mary's reminder of the first year of his marriage had lodged itself in his head and he found himself reliving that first year over and over. Such a happy, painful, time with so very many adjustments and so much for them to look forward to…. And all that he had realized with a kind of finality was over.

If the past few years had taught him nothing else, it was that time was passing and he had passed his expectant years. Patrick's death, Matthew's injury, Patrick's return, the war all had aged him making him ever aware of the encroaching creep of old age. Cora seemed as was becoming sadly typical of late utterly unaware of his moods. She had drifted off quickly leaving him feeling quite alone, in spite of her presence beside him in bed. After an hour or more of trying to drift off, he rose from bed deciding to try a brandy and some reading. Knotting his dressing gown he took a distracted look back at Cora feeling not for the first time that she was becoming a stranger to him. Wanting to hurry from that depressing thought he turned and walked from the room.

A half an hour later he was pouring himself a second brandy, a copy of Doyle left unread on the arm of the chair. His mind wholly occupied with his marriage and that of his children. His own marriage he could sort out later. Mary's words had reassured him about she and Matthew. He thought her right too, that in time Matthew would come around. One need only see the way Matthew Crawley looked at his daughter to be assured; her heart was most safe in his hands. N

o it was not Matthew and Mary that kept him awake. Nor was it he and Cora's first year, he had long ago accepted he would have to live with that regret for all his days. No it was the forthcoming marriage of Edith and Patrick that was disturbing even the fantasy of sleep. For the closer the day came the more certain he became that the pair was embarking on the most perilous of seas.

Robert did not consider himself a romantic. Most anniversaries he gave Cora a book or some piece of vague jewelry. He had never even understood love ballads and poetry left him bored. He had seen nothing wrong with telling Mary to wed Patrick to secure her future. What had changed, he could not imagine. But something had… for he anticipated the wedding of Edith and Patrick with dampening excitement. Oh he had tried to convince himself that as a man he would feel less elation about such events. Never the less, he could not wholly convince himself.

Nor could he provide himself a reason for this escalating apprehension. Patrick was a fine lad, oh he spent far too much on outfits and seemed to worry over trivial matters…still these flaws were minor. He knew Edith adored the lad beyond words. Both were young and as such they were gifted with years and years to make the union work. What then was troubling him? The lack of clarity troubled him even as he felt a dawning fatigue settling upon his system. Age was letting him down, time was he could have sat up the entirety of a night worrying over a thing like this, now his body dictated his concerns.

Not that it mattered what he did. The war had showed him that too…showed him he had no real control over anything…not his estate, not his wife, not his daughters. He alone powerless to change, he decided with a kind of bitterness. The choice had been made and the match set. Now all that was left was to play the thing out and hope for the best. Whatever was to happen would happen. That decided he swallowed a last gulp of brandy, rising to his feet with a groaning exclamation. Perhaps he could get at least a few hours of sleep before the chaos of the day descended upon them.

.~.~.~.~.

Patrick stirred from a restless sleep. In the silhouetted darkness he saw Matthew was sitting up scratching his pen across a pad of paper. "Writing an speech for the courts or crafting the great British novel."

"Neither," Matthew retorted distractedly. "Working on my toast for your wedding."

Covering a yawn with his wrist Patrick lightly suggested, "Please mention my good looks and eternal cheer."

Matthew's lips quirked upward as he stated, "I will make note of that."

Sybil's head was resting on his shoulder making movement challenging; still Patrick crossed his arms awkwardly finding the compartment chilly. "I haven't well… I have not properly thanked you for agreeing." Matthew said nothing but Patrick saw he was studying him carefully. "I am glad you will be up there with me."

"Why is that?"

"Mary told us some of that rot the Duke laid out."

"He did inquire after you." Matthew interjected wanting to be fair. Mary sometimes acted the tiger if she thought someone she cared for had been mistreated. "Mary seemed fine with his words that night."

"Mary is always a tad high around the upper end of aristocracy. It takes her a while to settle." He said casually. "The Duke's words bothered her. " He said definitively, adding, "If she will admit that to you is another discussion."

Matthew chuckle was soft and his tone oddly fond as he said, "Mary and I have never quite developed the skill of being wholly truthful. We prefer our bickering." He thought for a moment before adding, "The Duke well not necessarily him but one like him would have been a better choice for her."

"Better." Patrick scoffed shaking his head. "Do not misunderstand me old chap. Mary does feel like a moth drawn to those sorts. But it's an innocent affair, girlish." He said continuing, "What you said earlier about knowing the real Mary." Matthew merely nodded. "I do not think I ever met the real Mary. Men like the Duke and Napier certainly never have."

"Still," Matthew stated shaking his head. "She'd have a place in society, a fully functioning husband, children. It would have been a happier life altogether for her."

"I am not convinced of that." Patrick contradicted dismissing his words, as Sybil stirred ending the conversation.

.~.~.~.~.

The first bright rays of dawn woke Mary from the lightest of sleeps. She had passed a long night of tossing and turning and turning to toss. The dawn unwelcome as it was at least offered a respite from the search for sleep that proved ever elusive… Forcing herself to sit up she laid a tired palm across her eyes shielding them from the unwelcome sunlight. And she usually slept so well, and she was at Downton. For weeks and weeks she had been living on the fantasy of returning to her home. Oh Downton could be poky but it was home, and she had missed it terribly. She had expected to sleep more soundly, feel happier, experience more peace at Downton. Instead, she had endured a sleepless night after a fretful evening.

It was Matthew's fault really. She had grown used to his presence…sitting by her at dinner, listening with bemused exasperation to her accounts of daily life, his comforting presence in bed beside her. Her feet had been chilled without his warm calves. The room had seemed entirely too quiet without his soft snore. She had tossed and turned waking over and over without his soft mumbles or his warm arm around her. The girl who had fantasized about separate bedrooms, had vanished. The bed felt far to empty without Matthew.

Glancing at the clock she saw it was after six. She had no notion what time a milk train run, but it had to have arrived by now. Working people got up early and she assumed they would want milk for their breakfasts. For the first time in her life she was grateful for the habits of the lower classes. Anything to bring her husband home sooner, she thought hopefully.

That thought caused her to rise and drift over to her table. Reaching for her brush she began ritualistically combing her hair. Even this made her miss him. Every morning before she'd allow Edwards in the room, she'd comb her hair. Matthew would watch her and they would chat about the day to come. Domestic novels and notions had bored her terribly all her life. Now she craved each second of their domestic life. Oh Matthew should be here now. He in one of those terrible pairs of pajamas watching her, talking to her...

Glancing at the clock she cursed the slow movement, wanting time to pass, for him to return where he belonged by her side. Laying the brush aside she rose and pulled the bell cord. Perhaps he would soon arrive and they could breakfast here alone and very much together. The mere idea made her feel infinitely lighter. Yes, her husband would soon be here. Just the thought of his presence caused a smile to blossom across Mary's features.

.~.~.~.~.

The bumping of the car seemed to increase Sybil's excitement as they neared Downton. Despite her happiness in London, Downton retained a firm hold on her affections. Drawing closer to the house she felt herself ever more encased in a cocoon of safety and protection.

Patrick seemed to share her emotion for he said, "It is such a beautiful place."

"Yes," Sybil agreed a slow smile dawning across her face. "The most beautiful."

"It must have been grand growing up here." He said adding a bit forlornly. "I so wish I could remember."

"You can make new memories." Sybil promised him squeezing his hand reassuringly.

"I suppose." His agreement was too hesitant to be wholly believed.

Still Sybil needed to believe in it, needed to consider Downton a healing place. "I am certain it will." Her tone was more hopeful than expectant.

"I am going to miss you." He admitted glancing briefly at her.

Sybil smiled saying teasingly, "You are going to be so happy with Edith. I will scarcely cross your mind."

"And I know there is scarcely a moment that you are not on my mind."

"Patrick," Sybil said admonishing him, "We cannot."

He nodded knowingly stating, "Duty. I must perform my duty."

"Particularly to my sister." She emphasized turning her head and slipping her fingers from his.

"Edith does deserve that." He granted flexing his fingers which felt abandoned without her touch. "She does." He made an effort to place more conviction in his words, even if he doubted his own veracity. A few silent minutes passed before he said, "Driver can you stop." He said as a familiar lake came into view. Sybil turned facing him with a quizzical expression. "Would you mind if we stretched our legs. The grasses nearest the pond have been cut. We can stop for just a minute can we not?" Seeing her look meaningfully over at Matthew who was snoozing next to the driver he said reassuringly, "It will be alright."

Sybil pursued her lips considering his offer. "I suppose we are not such creatures to duty that we cannot take a few minutes for ourselves." Whispering for the driver to call them if Mr. Crawley woke up she followed Patrick taking his hand to step out of the car.

They walked some moments silently navigating the hill down to the pond. Standing before the rippling waters Patrick faced her asking with some urgency, "Did we come here?" He questioned with a kind of urgency, "When we were kids…..I bet we loved playing here."

"Actually no," She answered laughing at the memory. "As a boy you were terrified of water. Papa tried to teach you to swim here several times, and it never worked. You were so terribly afraid." She recalled her voice growing fainter at the memory.

"Ironic." He stated dejectedly turning to look at the gently rippling water. "I just thought…it seems such a peaceful place."

"It is." Sybil promised turning to face the water. Without concious thought she reached out taking Patrick's hand in hers. He turned surprised by the gesture, but pleased too. There they stood for a long while, holding hands and facing the peaceful water, while Matthew slept dead to the world in the car.

.~.~.~.~.


	19. Chapter 19

This chapter marks basically the half-way point in the AVMA timeline. The next quarter of the story is called The Beginning of the End. Make of that what you will. Replies get a slice of wedding cake and a cup of tea.

ETA-For some reason the ending text keeps getting inserted. I've fixed it three times and it still gets inserted in the middle of the story. I'm utterly confused and frustrated, but please don't think I'm that lazy of a proofreader.

..~.~.~.~.

"This is quite the happiest day of my life." Edith enthused breathlessly and yet quite sincerely to each guest who arrived in the reception line. "Thank you so very much for sharing it with me." Her bright smile and radiant happiness causing the guests in turn to smile, later many would remark on how very happy she seemed to be married. The rest of the family opted for patient smiles and good cheer offering polite comments such as "Thank you for coming…." Or the perfectly acceptable restrained, "How very nice to see you."

For his part, Matthew had to manage only polite thanks and a firm handshake. He was grateful for that, social ceremonies since the war always left him in the foulest of moods. It did not help that his back was aching terribly. The movement of the train had left him feeling jostled and his spin misaligned, as if everything had shifted into ill shaped crevices. He'd spent yesterday in bed trying to sleep off the pain. Mary had hovered and fretted even bringing in that charlatan Clarkston. Matthew didn't trust that man to cure a common housecat, so what Mary thought Clarkston could do for him was utterly beyond Matthew. Still he submitted and Clarkston did his usual tap, tap, question, proffer bad news with a chastised expression… He had at last given Matthew an injection which had mercifully allowed for relief, miniscule as it was.

Still the day had already been long and more difficult than he might have imagined. The endless greetings, the ceremony and now the party were all taxing what little reserve of energy he possessed. Fortunately Mary was being a champion. She remained glued to his side, her free hand resting lightly atop his shoulder. A few guests had even offered their congratulations on their marriage. Matthew knew they were merely being polite but still….At such moments Matthew and Mary offered matching smiles and bashful, "Thank you so much."

Glancing over at his wife, Matthew could not help smiling. She was handling the greetings beautifully, and not for the first time Matthew found himself in a kind of awe of Mary. She was so very good and poised at these things. She kept the conversation flowing, simultaneously giving the appearance of a blissfully happy wife. To hear her accepting the greetings one would envision her a perfectly blissful bride. He knew better of course, knowing himself to be an absolute excuse for a husband. Still, Mary never appeared to think so… What she really thought was of course an utter mystery to him and one he preferred not to probe too deeply. Best to enjoy her presence in the now, ignoring the bleaker days to come….

"At last," Patrick's relieved exclamation brought Matthew out of his thoughts. Glancing he saw the last guest retreating. The interminable receiving line had at last blessedly come to an end. Clenching and unclenching his fingers, Matthew tried to relief some of the ache that had settled in his hand.

"Patrick," Edith intoned sweetly. "What a terrible thing to say."

"Oh they are perfectly charming people but all those handshakes and thank you so very much." He grimaced saying, "How perfectly ridiculous."

"You used to love those things." Edith reminded him quietly.

"Did I?" He queried furrowing his brow. "How very odd."

Rolling her eyes Mary observed, "The ways of the aristocracy may appear frivolous, but they are engrained in our family."

Patrick turned facing her with a withering expression, "Cousin Mary aren't you a middle class housewife?" Without waiting for his response he turned smiling toward Matthew, "Matt how about the best man and the groom have a drink?"

Edith's mouth drooped a bit at his words. Seeing it Robert quickly suggested, "You must want a dance with your bride."

"Oh there is plenty of time for that." He answered dismissively adding, "I am parched and a drink would just suit me." Turning determinedly toward Matthew he repeated, "What do you say?"

"Mary and I were going to have a bit of punch." Matthew answered uncomfortably.

Nodding Patrick said, "Perhaps later then." Without a further word he strode off across the lawn.

The remaining Crawley's watched him moving away with looks of stunned disbelief, save Edith who forced a smile promising, "He will be back in a few minutes." It was unclear if her promise was made for her family's benefit or her own."

..~.~.~.~.

"How does it feel being back in the country?" Sir Anthony asked as he strolled beside Isobel in the garden.

"Very, very quiet." She said adding, "And very nice."

"As much as I enjoy my time in the city, I do so prefer the country." He admitted glancing around him with obvious pleasure. "

Iosbel glanced downward hiding a small knowing smile. Everyone in Yorkshire knew Sir Anthony Strallen was at a loss outside the country. "I suppose living in Manchester so long I retain a great affection for city life."

"Then London must suit you."

"It does." She agreed easily. "My work also keeps me very occupied."

"And has Matthew quite recovered from his incident."

A wrinkle of concern crossed Isobel's face, "I presume. He remains determinedly silent on that point."

A fond expression crossed Anthony's face. "I am certain if anything was truly amiss you would be among the very first to know."

Isobel eyed him saying flatly, "Are you? I am certain I would be among the very last."

..~.~.~.~.

"Can you please enlighten me as to why Patrick is behaving in this fashion?" Robert demanded angrily. He had pushed Matthew across the lawn to a secluded spot under a tree.

"Why would I have any idea?" Matthew asked sounding utterly perplexed by the notion.

"You are his best man."

Chuckling Matthew stated, "Only because the others he asked turned him down." As if finding the notion deeply amusing he added, "I am like the shy girl that got a dance because everyone else was paired up. A consolation prize if you will."

"Still he has been at Grantham House for weeks." Robert pointed out exasperation seeping into his voice. "Surely you must have some idea."

Matthew considered Robert's words for only a moment before admitting, "I can pretend no special insight into Cousin Patrick's character."

"Nor can I." Robert agreed frowning as he looked across the lawn, studying the reception. "I hoped Edith had some but…"

"I suppose it does not matter now."

Robert looked down sharply demanding, "Meaning?"

"The vows are done, the ring is on, all that is left is playing out the rest of their lives."

"That's a curiously cold remark."

"Realistic." Matthew insisted with a surprising firmness. "No use worrying over things that have become unchangeable."

Robert nodded recognizing even at this moment, the events were unalterable. "Marriage is for us a long business."

Matthew glanced across the lawn watching his wife walking alongside her grandmother. "Not nearly long enough." He said quietly.

..~.~.~.~.

"It is very perplexing to imagine yourself at a country wedding only to discover you have wandered into a Greek tragedy." Violet observed coolly. She and Mary were strolling through the party nodding and greeting guests as they walked.

"I cannot imagine it is that serious." Mary disagreed icily. "Edith's a dull girl, she hardly has the makings of a genuine tragedy in her."

Violet turned toward her granddaughter saying, "I wish I believed that." Her eyes darted around careful to observe that no one was eavesdropping. "Mary I have real fears about this union."

Unused to emotion from her very English grandmother Mary said, "We can hardly do anything now."

"More is the pity." Violet agreed stopping and leaning heavily on her cane for support. "I am relying on you and your sister and Matthew to keep a close eye on that marriage."

"From London?"

"Patrick does not seem to possess a fondness for country life." Violet cautioned adding, "Further he seems to prefer your company to Downton."

"Hardly mine." Mary observed nodding at a passing guest.

"Are you still smarting over the middle class housewife remark?" Violet questioned most coolly. "I thought that was actually rather clever."

"Granny." Mary cautioned in a slightly bemused tone.

"And how do you care for being a solicitor's wife?"

Mary thought seven, eight year ago the question would have been phrased quite differently. How much they had all changed. "I am happier than I expected to be."

Violet eyed her observing, "That is hardly an endorsement for martial accord."

"Granny," Mary said patiently, "Forty years."

Glancing up Violet said sounding surprised, "He told you about that."

Mary smiled an oblique smile that might mean everything or nothing. "I have time to get the marriage I fully intended to have."

A slight chuckle escaped Violet's lips causing her to observe, "Well we all know you always get what you want."

"Of course I do." Mary agreed smartly adding, "By the way I saw Aunt Rosamund a few days ago. She has a terrible cold and was heartbroken over not being able to attend."

"Thank heavens for small mercies." Violet answered gratefully. "If she were here the level of sneering and smirking would reach heights even George Mallory would not attempt."

..~.~.~.~.

Hurrying across the lawn Cora remained largely oblivious to those nodding and greeting her. Instead she moved relentlessly toward a figure ensconced at a table alone save for a glass. "What do you think you are doing?" She demanded in the harshest of tones, that she whispered her words did little to mollify them.

Patrick glanced up explaining, "Having a whisky. Would you like one?"

"Absolutely not." She said angrily. "Why are you over here drinking alone while my daughter is standing over there near tears?"

Due to his bandages Patrick's expressions were at best unreadable, but his lips did move slightly as he asked, "Edith is upset?"

"Of course she's upset." Cora insisted slightly befuddled and increasingly exasperated. "You have abandoned her on her wedding day. Her very own wedding day," She added the final sentence to give weight to his crimes.

"I have hardly abandoned her." Patrick responded fixing his gaze on the amber liquid in his glass. "I'm merely helping myself to some libation to ease the pressures of the day."

"The pressures of the day," Cora repeated dumbly, her mouth drooping in surprise. "It's your wedding day."

"Cousin Cora," He said darkly, "Given my recent conduct you cannot imagine this is a day of anticipation, rather than that of resignation."

Cora felt a cold shudder traverse her body and she began to protest, "But."

Sitting his glass down Patrick slowly rose, "But as I am resigned to my duties I shall endeavor to carry out the rest of the day performing the role of the delighted bridegroom." He said adding, "Please excuse me I will ask my bride for a dance."

Cora watched him crossing the lawn and approaching her daughter who beamed at his nearness. An unreadable expression crossed her face.

..~.~.~.~.

"Thank you Thomas," Matthew said as the footman pushed him toward a deserted table.

After parking him Thomas asked, "Would you like a drink sir?"

"A Scotch would be lovely," Matthew answered gratefully. Thomas merely nodded and set off to get the drink, leaving Matthew to his own company. Generally, Matthew disliked relying on someone else to maneuver his way about but given the slope of the land, it was rather necessary. And Thomas used to such tasks was quite marvelous, he shared with Edwards that tendency to be obtuse even while performing such tasks. Mosely or Bates would have talked or been omnipresent. Thomas merely performed the task leaving Matthew to navigate his own thoughts.

Paralysis had turned him to a watcher. Unable to engage in the active life he'd once enjoyed, he now found it easier to endure watching from a distance, safe away from activities he could no longer enjoy. Thus for most of the reception thus far he was content to watch the dancing and gossiping, he once would have so thoughtlessly enjoyed. "Youth," Reginald Crawley had often bemoaned in the final agonizing days of his illness, "Was wasted on the young." Matthew knew it was worse. Life, a full pleasant life, was spent on those unable to anticipate the crushing sorrow once mobility and usefulness were drained.

Wanting to escape that depressing thought, Matthew began scanning the gathering virtually the moment Thomas set his whisky down before him. As always he found himself searching for Mary. The one continuity between his two lives remained the solace he found in the mere sight of her. She was lovely in her mauve gown offering that enigmatic smile whose exact meaning he could never quite work out. Whatever his mood the sight of Lady Mary Crawley simply made him happier. Oh he knew he was a weight around her life, keeping her from dancing, and laughing and enjoying the attentions of a whole husband. Still, she never showed that. Perhaps it would be easier if she did… It would certainly resolve some of the questions that his subconscious kept demanding answers for…

The churning of such questions distracted him left him mentally unfocused, even as he glimpsed a familiar figure approaching. Swallowing the sigh that threatened to escape he said, "Lavinia." The greeting was purposefully cool, and he realized slightly bored. He had kept their interactions neutral since his arrival, playing certain diffidence. He had no real reason for such behavior other than a certain wariness about her presence. He had used Lavinia's feelings as a pretext for his marriage, but he realized since his wedding afternoon he had spared her hardly a thought. The strange meeting with Reggie had stirred up some residual guilt but it had promptly vanished. He supposed his lack of emotions regarding a girl he had promised to marry was another messy matter he ought to worry about, even if he had no actual intention of doing so.

"I have been hoping we would have a moment to speak." She admitted disrupting him from his thoughts.

Matthew glanced about seeing who was around, "Do you think that is quiet appropriate?" He answered firmly. "I am the husband of another woman."

"Yes." Lavinia agreed quietly. "But that does not mean we cannot be friendly."

"Society rather precludes that." Matthew chided sounding to his own ear stuffy.

"I only want to support you." She explained firmly. He was not sure when she had become a firm person. He had not thought her remotely decisive or firm or any of those adjectives. Yet, in this moment she surely was…

"Support me." He repeated chewing on the word thoughtfully.

"I know this is a challenging time." The words rushed out of her lips, each syllable tumbling atop the last.

Brushing a stray lock from his eyes Matthew repeated her words dully, "Challenging. I am afraid…I do not know quite what you refer to?"

Fixing him with an utterly cloying smile Lavinia patted his hand saying in the most soothing of tones, "It is quite alright you know, I do understand."

Matthew thought it was very good that someone did since he felt utterly confused. "What?" He asked feeling a mounting uncertainty. "You must tell me."

"You know." She insisted plainly before adding softly, "Just know no matter what I will be here for you always."

Matthew studied her finding himself profoundly confused. "I have no idea…"

"Matthew," Lavinia protested knowingly, "You do not have to lie or pretend with me." Running her thumb along his knuckle she said, "I know about everything…"

Matthew eyed her in utter confusion, his mouth slightly gaping. "My dear perhaps you should go inside. I fear the heat has affected you. The things you are saying…"

She reached forward placing her hand alongside his. "Do not be ashamed. Know I will always care for you."

Matthew pulled his hand hurriedly away, "I must find my wife. Thomas!" He beseeched the approaching servant, "Can you wheel me to Lady Mary."

Lavinia smiled a sweet reassuring smile as she watched him depart.

..~.~.~.~.

The lilting chords of the string trio wafted across the gardens as Edith and Patrick swayed gently to the music. Having no ear for specific songs, Patrick did not recognize the song but thought it had a pretty enough sound. Pretty enough he thought might be a decent analogy for the day. Patrick did not consider himself an intelligent man, perhaps he had been before but obviously that had died along with so much else… However, he was not an unaware one. He had moved toward this day like a swimmer dragged further and further from shore. The protests he had made…remaining in London, pushing Matthew from the train were the very definition of token and pointless gestures. He had been drifting toward this moment since the moment the haziest memories of Patrick Crawley began emerging. Everything had led to this moment so he could not begrudge its arrival or opt for another train.

"Was the day everything you imagined?" Edith asked in the most hopeful of tones.

"It was exactly as I imagined."

"This is the start of such a beautiful life for us." Edith promised pressing her face against his shoulder.

Patrick looked off into the distance, swaying even as his attention drifted away. "Yes." He agreed distractedly. "Of course."

..~.~.~.~.

As Mary pushed him through the gardens Matthew inhaled the floral scents surrounding him. Growing up in Manchester save the parks, flowers for him had been confined to vases and table arrangements. And prior to his accident the blooms had been of little interest to him. Now however the scents around him held a very different allure. Perhaps the loss of his legs had made his other senses more aware, perhaps it was a quirk of life the way objects slid in and out of interest. Whatever the cause he found himself taking in the scent and sight of the gardens with new appreciation.

"What did you think of the ceremony?" Mary queried continuing to push him.

Seeing a bench nearby he suggested, "Why don't we rest a bit. I cannot talk to you in this fashion."

Silently assenting to his wish Mary pushed him to the bench, and then took a seat on it herself. "Better?"

"A bit." He agreed massaging his temples with the pads of his fingers. "I do tire of conversing with people with my back to them…it feels quite unnatural." Sighing at the realization this was his life Matthew continued, "The ceremony was lovely."

"Did you?" Mary questioned her tone slightly challenging. "I fear I found it a trifle dull."

"Perhaps my dear," He suggested kindly, "You are not the most uncritical judge."

"Clearly not," She agreed, "Still the dress did have more style than I would have thought Edith possessed."

"One day you must explain to me your issues with Edith."

"It's a short story," Mary replied taking his question more literally than he had intended. "She was born." Mary smiled at her own joke, bemused as always at her own wit.

Matthew chuckled almost in spite of himself saying, "I see."

"Speaking of which," Mary began cautiously.

Matthew eyed her curiously inquiring, "What were we speaking of?"

"Me seeing my husband talking to his former fiancée," She said doing little to disguise her vexation at the topic. "

Matthew smiled slightly feeling an odd appreciation at the way Mary had slid her desired topic in so seamlessly, as if the transition was quite natural. "How did you know I was speaking with Lavinia?" He watched a frustrated frown line her forehead, thinking it quite pleasant that two could play at her game.

"I was merely looking for my husband." Her frown turned into the slightest of snits as she observed, "And he was ensconced at a secluded table with his former fiancée."

"Ensconced, secluded." He observed bemusedly, "You do make us sound so very interesting and terribly, terribly sly."

"Since I noticed you quite easily, you are obviously not sly." She observed her tone conveying a growing irritation with his banter.

Matthew took a moment contemplating their discussion before admitting, "It was a very strange conversation."

Recognizing the slight perplexityin his tone did precious little to quell Mary's obvious irritation though she said only, "Why is that?"

"I am not certain." He admitted with a kind of befuddlement adding, "She kept offering me support."

"You have a wife for support." Mary snapped no longer bothering to disguise her pique.

Matthew smiled agreeing, "The best one."

Mary returned his smile giving his shoulder the gentlest of squeezes, feeling her irritation gradually easing. "Why do you think she would believe you need support?"

"I cannot even begin to imagine." He said sounding slightly intrigued. "Why does it trouble you?"

"I am concerned about spurious gossip."

Fixing her with a smirk he said, "You need not concern yourself. I shall present myself as the uxorious of men."

Mary's smile grew if possible even wider as she pronounced lightly. "Well you are married to me. It would be unthinkable for you to be otherwise." She pronounced drolly feeling immensely rewarded when Matthew flashed her a toothy grin.

..~.~.~.~.

The pageantry of the day wore on carrying the guests along with it like an inexplicable tide. The cake, the toasts, the social maneuvering, the cheers and wishes for endless happiness… Every wedding is a little repetition of every other wedding, and Violet saw little unique in this one. As the day wore on she began to tire. Age had encroached leaving fatigue and cynicism in its wake. At length she retreated to a table to watch the proceeding with ever dimming interest. It was there that her son found her.

Fixing her with a smile Robert announced, "Well today was a great success!"

"You think so?" Violet selected her words carefully, parceling each out as a kind of challenge.

"I do." He said assuredly. "The ceremony was lovely, Edith looks quite lovely, everyone seems to be having a pleasant time." He said adding. "What more can one want from a wedding?"

Violet considered his words for but a moment before replying, "Little I suppose."

"Yet, you sit in an isolated table looking unhappy." Robert said adding imploringly, "What is the matter?"

The second time Violet took more time before answering his question. At length she began explaining stating, "Weddings never interest me." Seeing his disbelieving expression she continued, "What dress a pretty or not so pretty girl will wear, what cake the guests will consume, what flowers will be laid out…it's all cosmetics and artistry."

Appearing confused Robert asked, "What are cosmetics?"

"The paint girls put on their face." Violet answered sighing, "Robert you really must move with the times."

"I fail to see how face paint in any fashion involves this wedding."

"Obtuse," Violet declared as if speaking only to herself. "The look of this ceremony is beautiful. Cora always handles these functions nicely and makes everything look rosy and beautiful. But the appearances of one day mean little alongside the next thirty or forty years."

Creasing his brow in frustration Robert said, "I do not understand your meaning."

Sighing Violet said, "My fear was never that they would not marry. It was what the marriage might become." She paused drawing in a breath before continuing. "They have acquitted themselves nicely to the ceremony, but now the business of keeping the vows and the marriage begins. My fears were always located in the provinces of their union post marriage."

As she spoke Robert turned his head to study the dancing couple and the image he saw seemed far less mirthful than the same vision had seemed mere moments before.

..~.~.~.~.

The day as all such days do wore down to a close, and as the hours passed darkness settled over the Abbey, and guests tired of celebrating retired to their chambers. The staff however had no such luxury and it was well after ten o'clock when Sarah O'Brien found herself descending the stairs toward the dining hall. Seeing two familiar faces sitting there she announced, "Her layship is in a proper snit."

"I cannot imagine why." Anna said sipping her tea. "The day went off without a single hitch."

"Not in her book." O'Brien insisted walking over to the kitchen area calling, "Her ladyship wants some warm milk. She says she is too tired to sleep." O'Brien announced as she walked to the table huffing, "I am dead on my feet and she needs milk to get to sleep." Seeing Daisy enter toting a heavy tray O'Brien demanded coldly, "What in heaven's?"

"Lady Mary ordered it." Daisy explained stifling a yawn.

Anna rose to her feet saying, "It's a treat for Mr. Crawley."

"A treat," O'Brien scoffed irritably.

"I think it's nice." Daisy said evenly.

"I think it shows a great cheek." O'Brien proclaimed her lip curling slightly. "They let us wait on em hand and foot all day. And then the minute we should be off for a proper rest they need a treat."

"It's been a hard day for Mr. Crawley," Anna argued loyally, "Besides what's wrong with a wife caring for her husband?"

"Nothing at all," O'Brien answered in a surprisingly agreeable tone. "I am sure Mrs. Bates did such things for Mr. Bates."

Anna hissed slightly before angrily lifting the tray and stomping hurriedly from the room. O'Brien merely shrugged saying, "Was it something I said?"

..~.~.~.~.

Hypothermia is a condition resulting from the core temperature of the body thememwwls… the words melted into nonsense even as Sybil read them, her mind drifting elsewhere. She had crawled into bed with her text, grateful her mother had suggested they dine on trays in their room. The tray sat virtually untouched by her door. She had felt no desire for food, the morsels she had consumed this afternoon had tasted of dust and her appetite remained nonexistent. Still, she was grateful for the trays; she certainly did not feel up to enacting the charade of a happy family post ceremony dinner. The ceremony had been…she shook her head as if forcing the thoughts loose and away. No she could simply not contemplate the day. She could not. Better to focus on hypothermia. Hypothermia, she read again, is a condition resulting from sokfpfogpdog and the words again melted into nothingness.

..~.~.~.~.

The soft scudding of his slippers dragging across the floors accompanied Robert as he walked steadily toward the library. Opening the door he stopped short exclaiming, "I am surprised to see you here." He stated glancing over at a surprised figure who was peering at the bookshelves with undisguised curiosity.

Isobel looked up guiltily before smiling in surprise explaining, "I finished my novel on the train. I was hoping I could borrow a book." She admitted as if feeling the need to explain her presence in his library.

"Of course, of course." He acquiesced with a smile.

Laughing lightly Isobel brightly promised, "I will fill out the necessary book, and return it at the soonest date."

"You have been speaking to my daughters." Robert said chuckling. "I am not nearly as fierce as they pretend." Strolling toward her he asked, "What do you like to read? Bronte, Gaskell, Shelley?"

A small smile touched at the corner of Isobel's lips as she gently corrected him saying, "Actually I prefer Wollstonecraft, Caroline Norton, and Beatrice Webb." She said before finishing with a note of expectancy, "But I do not anticipate that you have those titles."

"I think not." He pronounced in the curtest of tones, before shaking his head saying, "But I do have some Hobbes, Malthus and the girls have a few Wells hidden behind other heavier tomes that they assume no one ever reads."

Isobel tossed a conspiratorial glance saying, "I will retire with some Welles then."

Giving her a single nod Robert crossed to a far shelf saying, "I will leave you to choose your poison."

Nodding Isobel followed him saying, "I am surprised to see you up. I thought everyone had retired."

"Cora has retired." He agreed uneasily before adding, "I suppose I should. It has been a long day." Robert admitted lightly touching the belt of his robe.

"How rude I am." Isobel apologized fretfully, recognizing the chiding implied in his words. "I must excuse myself and let you get some rest."

"Please don't." Robert requested hastily, surprising even himself with his words, "I only mean that after a long day I should be tired." He walked aimlessly toward the couch taking a seat. "I find my mind to active for sleep."

"I frequently have that problem." Isobel confided. "My mind is always full of plans."

"I find mine rather to full of questions."

Isobel stood by the bookcase cradling Ann Veronica between her fingers. She was fairly certain Robert had not read the novel, and slipped it into her dressing gown pocket, as if covertly disguising an unwelcome suitor from a jealous husband. Still, her tone remained solicitous as she suggested warmly, "Perhaps you would care to discuss it."

Robert studied her for a moment before saying coolly, "I am a bit to English to engage in that type of intercourse."

Fighting against the smile she wanted to display Isobel offered half-apologetically, "Perhaps it's a result of my medical training. To diagnosis the condition, one must first evaluate the symptoms."

"Is that how I appear?" He stated quizzically. "A patient, ill," The question was rhetorical and he was quick to go on as if fearing her response. "I suppose I do feel a bit ill, out of sorts at the least."

"It has been a difficult time." Isobel acknowledged reassuringly. "But with the children's marriage, and life getting on I do believe things will get better."

"Perhaps, perhaps." He granted sounding anything but convinced. "Could you do with a drink, I could use one?" He said rising and walking across the room. "I blame it partly on the wedding," He mused pouring a splash of cognac into a tulip shaped glass. "It is very odd being with a couple on the first day of their marriage."

"It is a time of great hopes." Isobel agreed warmly. "Matthew and Mary had such a lovely ceremony. I do wish you had attended."

"Hardly the wedding we expected." He said strolling back toward the sofa.

Isobel sitting in a straight chair said, "Perhaps not. But so little is what one expects. And," She added empathetically. "The marriage is far more significant than the ceremony. And thus far the marriage seems a success."

"I do so hope so." Robert assented taking a sip of his drink.

"Robert," Isobel began saying, "I am not good at subtext and subterfuge."

"You are frank."

She nodded allowing mulishly, "It is one of my better qualities."

An idea of his mother's retort to that sort of comment briefly interrupted Robert's thoughts. "I don't know, perhaps it is the wedding. Revisiting old themes…" Isobel nodded waiting patiently for whatever he wanted to say. "I suppose I am thinking of my own wedding day." Finding his explanation unsatisfactory even to his own ears Robert confessed, "It's a tricky passage, this journey from bridegroom to father of the bride."

Chuckling conspiratorially Isobel said, "It does make one rather aware of the passage of time."

"It is not that," Robert said distantly. "It is only that I expected things to be so very different."

"Yes." Isobel agreed, though perhaps not in the fashion he referred to.

"I thought so much would be resolved." He continued prattling as if only speaking to himself The first years when Cora and I were married…" His voice broke slightly as he continued saying, "Things were not as easy as they might have been. Sometimes," He admitted softly, carefully as if parceling each word out, "I would look at my father and mother and think how wonderful it would be to be their age. I assumed at that age life would be worked out; the chaos would be well behind one. Now," He said hesitantly, "I realize how perilous the seas of this stage of life can be…."

..~.~.~.~.

Blaming the absence of her concentration on a lumpy mattress, Sybil moved to the chair by the window. Stretching her arm she tugged on the chain bringing the lamp to life, the soft bulb illuminating the otherwise dark corner. Once again, she laid the thick gray Anatomy text across her thighs, liking the weight of the text. Thumbing the pages she turned to the section on Hypothermia reading again the opening line about lowering of core body temperature. It made no more impact on her than it had previously; still she forced her suddenly sluggish mind on through the passage. Even if she was unlikely to have a patient with the condition at the clinic she knew it was her duty to understand it… yet once again the words melted and she read xrketgftgpgopojjdogxcxddddog r.

..~.~.~.~.

Matthew was absently paging through a Trollope. He had read the page three times and still missed the heart of the thing. Clearly he was too distracted for the author tonight. The diversion as it increasingly was due to his wife's absence. He kept glancing at the door expecting Mary to enter. Thomas had placed him in the bed, wrapping a rug around his legs and feet, best he swore to ward off the chill of the Dales, before pulling the duvet to cover his waist. 10, 12 minutes had since elapsed, yet Mary had not appearead.

Exhaling he placed the book on the bedside table and rested his head against the headboard. Knackered he really did just feel totally knackered…he thought yawning as if his body needed to provide evidence supporting his conclusion. It was ridiculous. He had spent the previous day in bed, in Mary's bed. He had assumed at Downton, given the social mores, he would again sleep in his dressing room. Yet, when he'd arrived exhausted and half asleep Mary had Thomas place him in her bed. He'd woken a few hours later to the ever more familiar feel of her arm slung across his abdomen, her head mere inches from his own. And so they went on in what supposed was their increasingly familiar way. Part of him recoiled at the notion; hating the fact she found comfort in his worthless body. The other part felt waves of gratitude, that she could even imagine herself loving him. Of course imagination was all it was…of course.

The door opened causing Matthew to look up, a smile blossomed across his face at the sight of his wife toting a tray laden with a tea pot and what he assumed was a thing he liked even more than a proper cup of tea. "Cake!" He exclaimed a rare flush of excitement coloring his face. "I do like cake."

"A bit of a treat." She said depositing the tray on the mattress beside Matthew. She sat down on the bed, the tray separating them. "I thought we deserved this it has been such a long day."

"A nice one though." He said his mood belied by the cake and making it impossible to feel his typical gloominess.

She nodded lifting the pot. "Very nice."

An odd thought crossed Matthew's mind and he voiced it asking, "Is this what your wedding would have been like?"

Marty typically kept her face a blank canvas letting one read nothing from her expressions, but the question was such a surprise for a moment her features slipped. She saw the slightest of drooping in Matthew's expression and instantly reached over squeezing his wrist with her fingers. "It's not that…" She reassured him even as she wondered what precisely he had read in her features. "Well not totally anyway."

He ran his fingertips over her fingers where they rested on his wrist. "And what does that mean?"

"Well," She sighed leaning back against the pillow. "I would have quite adored dressing up and the ceremony….the pageantry does appeal."

"Of course." He agreed smiling at her near blissful tone.

"But," She added hurriedly. "It isn't what matters."

"Isn't it?"

"No." She said realizing he was staring into the depths of her eyes, a feeling she found both arousing and slightly terrifying.

As if sensing her mood Matthew lifted his fingers from her wrist and slid his wrist free, "You had best not let your mother hear that."

"My mother?" The slightest inflection of her voice phrased it as a question. Feeling bereft from the loss of his touch, she could barely focus on his words.

"She has been giving me the eye since I arrived." He confessed and she felt he was straining for a jocular tone. "I have faced Germans who regarded me with less antipathy."

Pouring herself some tea, Mary busied herself with the spoon and a lump of sugar wanting, needing really a distraction from his words. Opting to match his tone she replied lightly insisting, "Are you certain? She has a terrible stigmatism, and she just refuses to wear spectacles. Which of course I cannot fault her for…"

"She has also said roughly six sentences to me." He said empathetically adding, "One of which was and I quote, thank goodness you did not cause Patrick to miss any more trains."

"Speaking of which," Mary began pointedly, "I want to discuss that further."

"We are already discussing your mother." He said dismissing the subject as he had several times since his arrival. "I suspect your mother might prefer it if you were a widow rather than a wife." Matthew observed wryly.

Mary felt a chill run through her entire being at the notion. "What a terrible thing to say."

He thought of rebutting her, but the cake had made him altogether too happy. "My dear I only spoke of your Mama's preferences."

"Well I wish you would not speak of such things." Deciding to lighten the mood she added blithely, "Besides mama certainly would not a wish a thing. A widow has no role in society. I hardly think she prefers me in ashes and black, weeping copiously."

"Is that the kind of widow you would cut?"

She frowned admitting, "I once said I thought Aunt Rosamund was the luckiest sort."

"All alone in a townhouse in Eaton Square," He recited offering the quote Edith had told him years ago. "Not a bad arrangement."

She reached over looping her free arm with his. "Now I know how foolish that girl was."

He offered her a faint smile, "I suppose a useless cripple husband does best widowhood."

"Do be quiet." She chided rubbing his arm companionably. "You mustn't take it personally, you know." She soothed continuing her explanation by saying, "My mother would prefer if I had marched silently to the alter and married Sir Richard or Sir whatever of bulbous nose, grotesque appetites so long as he had piles of gold." Mary remarked sourly, her tone breaking a bit with each additional admission. "I was always just something she had to sell, not that different from Diamond actually. Strutted out, trotting at the speed most likely to capture the fancy of the best buyer." By the conclusion of her sentence Mary's voice had become brittle, exposing anger she typically kept carefully hidden.

A long silent moment passed before Matthew slowly slid his hand over Mary's and laced their fingers. His band sliding over her wedding ring as their hands joined. "I suppose for my sake, I'm terribly grateful her plans did not succeed."

"Oh," Mary stated in the archest of tones, "And why is that?"

"Because had any of her plans succeeded you would not be here and," He said giving her hand a gentle squeeze, "I find I quite like you here."

Mary looked pointedly down at their hands saying softly, "I quite like being here." She waited for him to withdraw his hand or saying something to break the mood instead he kept their hands intertwined and remained silent seemingly feeling no need to say more or retract words he had spoken.

..~.~.~.~.

Abandoning the chair Sybil rose to her feet going to stand before the window. There was a chill beyond the panes, and she shivered a bit though she was not sure the temperature was wholly to blame. Hugging her arms around her breasts, Sybil took several cleansing breaths, even as they ventured near sobs. Determinedly crossing the room she lifted her anatomy text paging again to the hypothermia section. The words appeared Greek to her and she slammed the book shut and angrily tossed it across the room, angered by its weak thump against the plaster.

The gulps now became sobs and splaying her fingers across her temple Sybil slowly dragged them down her forehead and cheeks. A kind of pain clenched at her chest and tears sprang at the corners of her eyes. Fighting against them she rubbed them away and tried to still her body. A sharp knock sounded from her door. In moments it opened and Anna rushed in, "Miss?" She asked, "Miss?"

"I didn't know Anna." She sobbed releasing the tears she had been holding back the whole of the day. "I didn't know!" Anna unsure what to do or say, simply guided Sybil up and toward her bed and stood nearby sympathetically cooing as the girl wept herself to sleep.

..~.~.~.~.

The candles burning down to their lower halves bathed the room in hues or orange, red and yellow. Across the room Patrick and Edith lay curled beneath the sheets, her head resting on his scarred shoulder. Every so often Patrick would run the nails of his fingers atop her velvety skin in a smooth, methodical fashion. After intimacy Edith had been groggy and half asleep. She had proffered apologies in drowsy emotive words. He had merely kissed her brow and held her closer, urging her toward sleep.

Looking down on her peaceful, lovely face Patrick regretted that were she to look on his face, she would see a most dissimilar expression. Her contentment versus his contemplation... Oh the intimacy had been….fine. She was a bit shy, keeping her nightgown tugged low, but that had not bothered him. She was loving, receptive to his touch. She had not spoken of his scars, quite the opposite she had murmured a chorus of beautiful, seemingly enthralled by his touch. In the midst of things her love had as it often did overwhelmed his discombobulation_. _Afterwards coming back to himself he had lost the sensation, feeling adrift again. Even as she whispered endearments, he found himself wondering how Patrick Crawley would have reacted. The Patrick Crawley that he could never quite locate in his own geography….

The even measures of her breath reassured him that she was deeply asleep. An odd gratitude seeped in, not at her kindness but at her present state. He found he could endure her sleepy isolation far better than her cloying endearments. And almost at once he was seized for a desire for space and solitude. A place where her sated smile would not seem a reproach for all he could not feel.

Sliding her over onto her own pillow he slipped his elbow free, watching her carefully, alert for any sight of wakefulness even as he lowered her sleeping form to the mattress. Feeling the slightest frisson of guilt, he dropped a kiss on her cheek to reassure her lest she woke. Shifting to the edge of the mattress his dressing gown, he reached for his dressing gown sliding one arm then the next in before carefully putting feet to the floor.

The gentle ripple of the mattress caused Edith to wake or half-wake. Her eyes opened but she clearly remained half-asleep mumbling, "Is everything alright?"

"Everything is fine." He vowed leaning down and placing a reassuring hand on her bare shoulder.

"Where are you going?" She asked yawning, clearly tumbling deeper into sleep.

He smiled at her stroking his hand down her arm. "Go back to sleep." He urged in the softest voice he could muster. Smiling, comforted by his tone Edith closed her eyes and in moments her breathing became soft and regular. Then and only then did he rise from the bed, and cross to his dressing room closing the door behind him.

..~.~.~.~.

Poor, poor Edith. I swear when I finish AVMA I'm writing A New Age a Matthew/Edith story where they are living in post war London with Rosamund to just to make up for the agony I'm putting her through.


	20. Chapter 20

Apologies for the delay... Transition chapters are a pain to write. Feedback is beloved and rewarded with soup!

**.~.~.~.~.**

Amid the blooming flowers and chirping larks of an early spring morning, Robert had risen early, travelling with Cora to the train station to see Patrick and Edith off. The girls had joined them and for a moment Robert had felt the family falling into the old routines. And for a moment it was enough to let that wash over him, to pretend again that he was the wise Earl and they were his lovely daughters only… As if they had all stepped back, and it was 1914 before the garden party changed everything. The illusion shattered to pieces as Patrick's scarred face slid into view, causing Robert to shiver at the realization of the constancy of change.

Having slept poorly, he found the brightness of the morning almost mocking. The sunshine and the lovely day were certainly suited to a happy honeymoon going, but were they suited for this particular honeymoon going? Throughout the ride Robert kept an eye fixed on Edith watching her for any sign of unease. He saw little. Indeed, she seemed eager enough. She had chattered away during the car ride about Paris and the journey….the places they would see, the joyful experiences to come. Still eagerness was as much a characteristic of Edith, as sarcasm was in Mary or enthusiasm in Sybil. Robert felt her excitement a half performance. Her smile to bright, her words infused with a cheer far excessive. She was, he thought, putting on a bit trying to conjure emotions stronger than she truly felt.

Standing just apart from the other, he surveyed the family sprawled out across the station. Mary standing with her mother and grandmother listening as Cora spoke about some inanity. The slightest arch of her brow alone, signaling Mary's boredom with her mother's speech. Meanwhile, Sybil stood a few feet from Edith and Patrick. Patrick stood on his own some inches from his bride. Edith seemingly wanting to close the gap casually looped her arm through her husband's left one. For his part Patrick made no move either from or toward her side, standing instead like a stone rooted to the spot. At this Edith's lips drooped a bit, a gesture so slight that anyone not closely watching would have missed the gesture, but Robert was watching. Perhaps it was late in the day to start, he thought guiltily, but he was watching. Robert had never really bothered about figuring about what the girls felt about one thing or the other. The feminine world seemed far too complex a mystery to bother figuring out. Now though, with Mary and Sybil gone off to London and new lives, and Edith starting one herself he felt slightly less certain in that stance. Perhaps he should have put forth a greater effort. He did love them after all, and it seemed a little perverse to know so little about ones he loved so deeply.

In abstract way he recognized he could make an effort… try and get to know the girls as adults. He just could not imagine how one could truly go about such a process. Deep down he was uncertain he even wanted to begin such a task for Robert recognized he was not a creature capable of change. Oh he could alter his dress, he could switch to the new style of dinner jackets. He could ride in motor cars. He could even accept his daughter was in a college. But to really try and get to know his daughters seemed too great an effort. Women had always been foreign creatures to him. His mother, his sister and his wife he knew at best superficially and terribly slightly. And if he could not know them how could he manage with three individuals as dissimilar as his daughters. So he regarded the future with a kind of fated paralysis. Knowing the rapids were closing in, and yet unable to paddle away from the perils. And the whole of that morning he saw nothing but rapids for Edith.

"Goodbye Papa!" She cried climbing up the train steps and offering him a happy wave. Her hair a lovely reddish blonde shade floating in the breeze, a happy smile seeming to enliven her entire being. Without conscious thought Robert raised his arm and she smiled an instant before she vanished inside the train. In mere moments the train was chugging into the distance and all Robert could see was rapids. And even as the car chugged toward Downton, even as the familiar and loved lands came into view all he could see were rapids. And at length he closed his eyes, keeping them closed the rest of the long way home.

**.~.~.~.~.**

For her part Mary felt her own trepidation increasing as the car glided ever closer to Downton. The typical peace she felt at approaching her old home replaced by an atypical churning. All morning as she had gone about playing the role of sister and daughter, her thoughts had been occupied by the way she had parted from Matthew.

Generally mornings with Matthew were among her more treasured times. Much to her chagri,n she was realizing she was far more domestic creature than she had assumed. The scorn she had rained down on so many, should she realized now rest on herself for she liked nothing better than nights and afternoons with her husband. Sharing quiet meals, passing an evening in companionable silence while they read, listening to accounts of his day, such things brought her a kind of subtle pleasure, a type of emotion she had never expected to tolerate much less feel the growing fondness she now experienced.

This dawn though had been stilted, a kind of awkwardness descending over them due to her revelations the previous night. She had fled their bed moments after awakening and then hurriedly dressed behind the screen in her…their room. All the time she had been talking and talking, yet saying nothing. Her babbling nonsense filling any silence that might allow any mention of last night…. Realizing what she had confessed, the feelings she had shared with her husband terrified her. Much as she cared for Matthew, she had no desire to share her innermost feelings and thoughts. Mary Crawley had long ago decided private thoughts and feelings could never be shared. Even a man like Matthew could never really know her deepest thoughts and feelings. No, that knowledge would give him more power. God knew he already held entirely too much power over her. She certainly would not give him more.

So she had begun the day determined to avoid any mention of the previous night. If Matthew recognized this he did not say so… actually he said almost nothing. "Did you sleep well?" Being his longest sentence... Once she was dressed, Mary had hurried about collecting her bag and the few things she needed before literally fleeing the room. Matthew had not even bothered responding to her goodbye, instead he remained determinedly staring down at his folded hands as if the oracles of the ages could best be deciphered by such practices.

"I notice Matthew remained behind." Cora drawled pulling Mary from her thoughts. "I hope the wedding did not tire him out."

Mary grimaced well understanding her mother's meaning but saying only, "I believe my husband wanted to allow us a private goodbye to Edith." While this was not precisely true it was close enough Mary decided.

"Interesting," Cora said playing with the button on her gloves. "He sees himself as separate from the family."

"It is so good to see one of you girls so well settled."

"Really Cora." Robert admonished tiredly.

"Well that is how I feel and I certainly won't apologize for being grateful one of our daughters followed a sensible path."

"As opposed to me you mean?" Mary's tone conveyed little surprise.

"You know perfectly well what I think of your…marriage. So we needn't quarrel over that." Cora explained coolly. "I can praise Edith without referring to you."

"You could." Mary agreed as the car pulled to a stop before the house. Stepping out of the car provided her the time to bite back the angry retort she yearned to spit out. Having grown up under Cora's guidance Mary knew perfectly well her mother had been referring to her. She knew Cora considered her marriage the greatest of disappointments. She just could not understand why. Socially and economically Matthew was beneath her obviously, but he was a good man, a war veteran, and he made her so very happy. She hoped such things would mean something to her mother, particularly her happiness. but she had long ago realized they did not. Money, status, position, titles were what mattered in her mother's world… Of course she realized with a guilty twinge that they had ruled her own world to and for many years. What had changed that, she wondered? Matthew, Richard, the war, herself…she was not sure. She only knew something was changing. Her sense of place at Downton, her view of her mother's mind-set, her life seemed subtly shifting with this new post-war world. But she thought glancing over at her mother, not for Cora, never for Cora. Her mother would install electricity, campaign change but her views of society and status were fixed. Cora's ideas for her daughters as unchangeable as her father's view of Downton… Sometimes she thought it was rather fortunate that she and Matthew would not have children. She could not quite imagine herself as a mother; she seemed forever resigned to the role of the rebellious daughter. Poised rebellious daughter, she thought, folding her hands neatly as she followed her father into the entryway

**.~.~.~.~. **

"My Lord," Carson said opening the door for the family. "I hope Lady Edith and Mr. Crawley met the train."

"Indeed," Robert agreed with an appreciative nod. "We saw them off."

Carson nodded stating regretfully, "The house will be a bit quieter without them."

"Indeed it shall." Robert agreed sounding feeling vaguely depressed at the notion.

"Not quite yet." Cora stated brightly. "You do remember Lavinia will be staying with us for a few more days."

"I did not." Robert said a note of surprise in his tone.

"I invited Lavinia to stay for a few more days." Cora repeated adding, "Train trips are so taxing it is necessary for one with a delicate constitution to have time to recover before a second excursion. We would not want dear Lavinia to overtire herself."

"Your concern is so touching." Lavinia called gratefully coming down the stairs.

Annoyed with the French drama playing out before her Mary turned to Carson asking, "Is Mr. Crawley in the library?" She said naming his preferred location at Downton.

"Sir Anthony Strallen came by earlier." Lavinia informed them adding, "He asked Matthew for his assistance." She said completing her explanation by saying, "They left a quarter of an hour ago."

"Isn't that nice." Mary said proffering the most serene of smiles. "Mama, Papa if you will excuse me I believe I will retire upstairs. I have several letters to compose." Without waiting for further commentary she turned and began ascending the stairway. Climbing the stairs Mary could not decide how she felt about her husband's absence. Regret and relief, she had long ago recognized, tasted oddly akin and seemed to exist in a kind of duality making each difficult to separate.

**.~.~.~.~.**

Speeding through the countryside Matthew relished the feel of the wind at his back, the flop of his hair rising up and falling against his forehead as he rode in Sir Anthony's open car. During the war he had nursed a fantasy of himself after the war speeding around on a motorcycle. That was clearly never to be. This was as close as he would ever get. He supposed that had to be good enough. Much like his post war life, it was a matter of accepting the crumbs of what remained, versus tasting the cake of what he so desired. Still, the wind did feel so very nice.

"I do hope Lady Mary will forgive me for spiriting you away so early this morning."

"I am certain she will be quite glad to be on her own with her family for a bit."

"Still you are to be on a holiday and I do apologize for disrupting that."

"As I said at the house your apology is quite unnecessary." He said firmly. "I like to keep busy."

Sir Anthony nodded saying, "Perhaps Lady Mary will be grateful not be included. I believe she finds me a trifle dull." Sir Anthony confessed in a slightly bashful tone.

"Oh I doubt that." Matthew demurred, fully aware that Mary did indeed find Sir Anthony utterly dull.

Laughing Anthony admitted, "I suppose that I am a bit dull." He chuckled seemingly unperturbed by this realization. "I am fond of my farm and my pigs and my cows. I know very well such things are not of comparable interest to all women."

"Neither is the law I fear." Matthew said more for companionability than truthfulness. He realized he had no actual idea what Mary thought of his occupation. Oh he knew very well what 1912 Lady Mary Crawley believed about working a trade. However, Lady Mary Crawley or more specifically his wife Mary he was less certain. Thinking back to his conversation with Patrick some days before, it puzzled him. In some ways he believed he knew Mary so very well, in other ways she remained a perfect mystery to him.

Anthony chuckled agreeably, "So it goes with marriage. I fear even the best of wives feel they must endure our passions as I suppose we try and endure theirs." He glanced over fixing Matthew with a companionable smile.

"I suppose." Matthew answered his voice reflecting the uncertainty he felt. He did not consider himself a husband, so it felt a bit awkward to share confidences with a man who had been a real husband, as if they were equals when he was so terribly unequal. It felt like a bit of play acting, a child playing at a role he would never grow into. Worse still a man condemned to falsely enact a role he could have played ideallya mere year before, but that now resided only in the provinces of his fantasies.

Anthony broke his thoughts saying, "I must confess I didn't bring you out only to show you my grain harvester."

"Oh."

"I thought perhaps we could discuss a bit of business." Matthew nodded encouragingly but kept silent letting Anthony guide the conversation. "I suppose the war has refocused my mind on a few unfinished matters." He paused saying, "I do not suppose you know I had a brother."

"No I did not."

"He died well before you arrived in Downton. He went in the pandemic of 92. Not long after the king's brother."

"Dreadful." Matthew said in what he hoped was a properly sympathetic tone.

"He had a son Victor. Since Maude and I were not blessed with children, Victor was to be my heir." Matthew felt a dull pain cross his chest fully anticipating Anthony's next words. "Victor lost his life on the Somme." Matthew nodded fighting against the mental images that flooded his mind. The days on the Somme seemed permanently imprinted on his mind and he yearned to forget each and every one. "While I was serving it seemed so irrelevant but I suppose matters must be rearranged now."

"Indeed."

"I know you are a becoming a barrister," He said adding, "But do you still handle such matters?"

"I keep a hand in every possible pot." He quipped drily.

A moment paused before Anthony barked out a loud laugh. "Quite good." He chuckled again as if rewarding the joke with a single laugh was not quite enough.

Cautiously as if suddenly aware another motive might cause Anthony to revise his will Matthew questioned a bit uneasily,"You are not?" He was not far enough from war to find it in his power to say ill much less mention death.

Anthony shook his head chuckling, "Healthy as a horse. No I simply wish to put things in order." He added pluckily, "Farmers passion for order, I suppose."

Matthew noded saying gamely, "I am certainly willing to help, however wouldn't it be easier to find a chap in Ripon. I could certainly recommend a local man. More convenient for you..."

"Oh I would rather you take it on, if you are willing." He said decidedly.

"It's only my casework keeps me in London."

Anthony nodded as if unsurprised by the news. "I can travel up to London if need be."

"I just wouldn't want to take you out of the country."

"That's quite alright," Anthony dismissed stating in a hopeful tone. "London has its attractions at the moment."

**.~.~.~.~.**

"I simply fail to understand what if any good you believe all this machinating will achieve." Robert declared angrily following Cora into their bedroom.

"Machinating?" Cora repeated his accusations in the archest of tones. "Between wedding plans and guest arrangements I have scarcely have time for machinating." She insisted adding, "And if you are intending to blame Lavinia's presence on me, you are quite mistaken. Edith invited her. I thought the idea in the poorest of taste." She admitted shaking her head at the notion. "However seeing the girl was very nearly done in by the trip I thought it nothing less than Christian charity to extend her stay."

"Perhaps," Robert grudgingly admitted. "Still you have certainly not helped the situation or show much regard for Matthew or Mary's feelings."

"I cannot imagine what you are referring to."

Robert rolled his eyes snapping, "Let us not play games with one another Cora."

"Very well," She agreed with amicability so atypical to her nature that Robert felt himself growing guarded even as she continued. "I believe this weekend has validated every concern I had about Matthew and Mary's marriage."

"Whatever are you talking about?" Robert demanded facing her with the stoniest of expressions.

"First Matthew delays the entire party about arriving. Then he is put to bed for the better part of two days due to a supposed incapacitation, so very embarrassing for Mary." Cora said frustratedly. "Now he's off with Anthony Strallen doing goodness knows what." Cora stated letting her words spill out quickly, seeking to avoid the interruptions Robert most wanted to make. "His movements are entirely selfish and he shows no regard for our daughter. Indeed, he remains in bed or goes out entirely independent of her wills or wishes."

"Mary seems perfectly content." Robert countered firmly. "In fact prior to his arrival she seemed a bit off, but since he's come she has seemed in far better spirits."

Fixing him with a disparaging smile Cora disagreed pointedly reminding him, "Mary has always been fond of Matthew. I have no doubt she takes a certain solace in his presence…but how long do you think such feelings can last?" Weighting her argument she promptly added, "Particularly when she is locked in a middle class existence that must be completely foreign to her expectations? And particularly when her husband so obviously avoids her presence at any and every opportunity."

Recognizing her question entirely rhetorical and therefore not deserving of an answer, Robert merely reminded her, "Nothing in this world is anything but foreign to all our expectations."

Sighing Cora went to her writing table demanding, "Do not play the role of social reformer. Absolutely no one has responded to a changing world with more resistance than you have demonstrated." She stated flatly. "If you had your way you would take one of Mr. Gilbert's magic potions and wish us all back to the mythical past you seemed determined to venerate. Yet," She continued turning to face him, "When it comes to your beloved Matthew you would champion any reform, any social alteration. And none of it results from anything but your unending affection for that boy."

"That boy." Robert roared angrily. "That young man who is my cousin, who you yourself for so long proclaimed so perfect for our daughter… " He said feeling his face flushing with anger. "The young man who went to war for this country and came back so changed, and yet who labors on trying to make a life in a way anyone would find admirable."

"I find him very admirable." Cora affirmed reaching for a pen. "I simply want more for our daughter than a convent union to a man who can provide her neither the society or status we raised Mary to expect."

"But Mary is happy!" He proclaimed firmly. "She is happy!"

"She says she is." Cora agreed before demanding, "But do you honestly believe that to be so. Or is it merely that you prefer her marriage or rather her husband."

Huffing angrily Robert said, "I have never denied my great fondness for Matthew. I think he is among the best of men. And I believe he and Mary to be an excellent match."

"You have certainly been clear on that point." Cora assented sounding increasingly bored. "Though I am unsure precisely what this great affection is borne of..." Pausing she lowered her tone before confessing, "To my mind your feelings for Matthew seem more akin to Eaton than the nursery much less a son-in-law." She delivered her accusation coldly before turning her body to give attention to her letters.

Robert rose striding toward the door. Placing his hand on the knob he spoke admitting, "Sometimes it is a wonder to me how two people can go through a lifetime in such a compatible fashion and imagine themselves so likeminded only to realize late in the journey they are so very dissimilar. " He shook his head completing the thought by confessing, "If someone had asked me only a few years ago I would have sworn and been absolutely certain that I knew you as well as I know any woman. Now," He said sadly opening the door. "I realize I do not know you at all." Saying that he walked out closing the door behind him.

**.~.~.~.~.**

Sighing inwardly Mary stepped into her…their room she feeling an odd and ever growing frustration with her visit home. Nothing about this trip was working out the way that she had envisioned. Lavinia was a sweet if misguided girl. However, Mary felt not one jot of concern that Matthew would ever leave her for Lavinia. Whatever his condition or qualms about himself, Mary was absolutely certain Matthew Crawley was hers for life. So that issue did not even concern her. Troublesome as Lavinia's presence was, Mary could not fault it for her state. Her mother's odious planning was not even to blame. Mary simply could not find the elation or sense of self that she had expected to feel about her return. Something had altered and she could not quite piece together just what…

Her thoughts were interrupted by the knocking on the door. "Come in." She called expecting Anna to come and help her change for luncheon. "Thomas." She asked surprised to see him standing in the open door, an odd place for a male servant. "Has Mr. Crawley returned?" She asked assuming Thomas' presence was solely for her husband's benefit.

"I do not believe so." He replied adding, "Actually I wanted to speak with you milady."

Mary assented stating, "Very well."

"I am not entirely sure how to put this…I was wondering if Mr. Crawley might require a valet." As if uncertain of his clarity, Thomas added, "That is in London or of course wherever Mr. Crawley resides."

"You wish to leave Downton?"

"It is not that I wish to leave Downton it is that I wish to broaden my opportunities milady."

Mary nodded thinking that a rather good answer, "I see. I will speak to Mr. Crawley."

"Thank you milady." Thomas said retreating from the room leaving Mary to her thoughts.

**.~.~.~.~.**

"I'm sure this does not seem any to grand after your London hospitals." Clarkson apologized over his shoulder as they walked through the hospital.

"It is quite impressive." Sybil said glancing around her quasi-interestedly.

"Still," Clarkson said shaking his head. "To work for a man of Jonathan Garrett's statue must be quite inspiring."

"I suppose." Sybil agreed distractedly. Truthfully an exploration of the village hospital had been at the very last of her plans. Yet she required distraction, a means of trying to keep her mind off the past two days. Sickness and healing she had long realized was a good way of keeping one's mind on the task ahead. So she tried to focus on the bits and baubles of the hospital, trying to keep her focus on Clarkson's chattering.

"Is he quite as the papers say?"

"I could not say." Sybil admitted adding, "He keeps me pretty busy. And he isn't the sort to pontificate much about his trade."

"A Scotsman's way." Clarkson said with a pointed pride.

Sybil nodded slightly befuddled by Clarkson's heroic vision of the doctor. As she started to comment she looked up at the startling sight of a nurse lifting a patient's leg, returning it to the bed and then relifting it. As she watched the woman repeat the process Sybil blurted out keenly, "What is that?"

Clarkson smiled a toothy overly pleased expression conveying his pride. "It's an idea I a colleague informed me that the London is trying and I thought wise to attempt." He said walking closer to the bed. "Beridden patients' limbs atrophy. These exercises attempt to limit the progression and retain whatever muscle strength remains."

"How very interesting," Sybil observed drawing closer still to the bed. "Is it effective?" As her interest rose, her tone was becoming more clinical

"We don't know," He admitted turning to face her. "But I felt it was well worth the effort."

"Indeed," Sybil agreed gamefully, her fog of disinterest blown away by a keen interest in the goings on in this clinic. "Are the exercises difficult to master?"

He shook his head, "No I could teach you in a half an hour or less." He suggested then abruptly as if thinking better of it he said, "But I am certain Dr. Garrett knows better than I."

"I actually wasn't considering it for Garrett's clinic." Sybil stated smiling as she added, "And I do hope you can spare some time to teach me the motions."

Clarkson agreed with a pleased smile saying excitedly, "But of course."

**.~.~.~.~.**

Walking toward the library, Lavinia distractedly caressed the spine of Austen. She had spent much of the previous evening reading and continued the practice this morning. Not out of any genuine interest, rather to occupy a mind gone slightly restless. Typically Lavinia adored immersing herself in other worlds; however the past few days she had found the fictional world illusive. She was far more occupied with the possibilities of the world surrounding her and the possibilities of that existence. Cora's words had set aflame hopes which had been extinguished nearly to embers. Rationally, she knew it best to take a gradual measure of things, allow matters to play out as they must. However, Lavinia found it hard to temper her emotions when all she yearned for seemed so very close to her grasp. With such happiness so close to fruition it felt maddening to sit cooling her heels waiting. Still if wait she must she would wait…she had decided to spend the afternoon reading and required a new novel. She hoped Cousin Robert, it did not feel too familiar to use that name now, would not object.

Stepping inside the room Lavinia walked instinctively toward a familiar, well browsed shelf. During her last stay Robert had teased her about her fondness for Austen. The taste had gone unabated and she debated between Sense and Persuasion thinking that Matthew would be as ideal a Ferris as a Wentworth.

"I hope you are being careful who you are listening to." A voice mused coolly almost diffidently.

Lavinia spun around gasping, "Isobel."

"You sound surprised to see me." Isobel observed looking up from the Welles' she was perusing.

"I did not know anyone was in here." She confessed feeling like a child sneaking a sweet.

Isobel closed her book placing it on a side table. Without responding to Lavinia's words, Isobel admitted in the most perfunctory fashion, "I am glad you wandered in." She slid her glasses off folding them, while keeping them clasped in her hand. "I was hoping we could have a chat."

"Really?" Lavinia replied matching Isobel's coolness. "You have shown no interest in that task thus far." She took a seat directly across from Isobel saying, "You have not said ten words to me since you arrived."

"That is true enough." Isobel agreed matter of factly. "I had rather hoped you would take my hint, now however I see that I must utilize more direct measures." She stated adding, "The time has come for you to leave Downton and for that matter, my son's life."

Recoiling at the woman's bluntness Lavinia stated;"You are very blunt and if I must say so terribly rude."

"Perhaps." Isobel agreed heavily as if ill pleased by her task. "Still I find bluntness rather helps in life's messier moments. A nurse has no use being soft about things."

"I have no idea what things you speak of."

"I rather think you do." Isobel countered fixing her gaze firmly on the girl.

"Cora invited me to stay," She said grasping at an excuse.

Isobel regarded her evenly saying, "I am quite certain she did."

"I felt it was proper." Lavinia's words shaded toward defensiveness as if feeling a need to justify her actions. "Everyone assured me after…. Everyone said they cared about me, wanted to remain on the friendliest of terms."

"Everyone here does care about you." Isobel reassured her coolly. "If they did not someone might put words to how monumentally distasteful your remaining at Downton is…. It is not friendly to suggest a reasonable, pleasant young woman is behaving badly."

A long moment passed with Lavinia's lip trembling mightily as she struggled to maintain her composure. During this interval Isobel trained her vision on a monstrosity of a floral arrangement situated across the room, deciding it would not be out of place in a Verne novel. The thought caused her lips to turn up but slightly, enough though for Lavinia to notice and cry, "You find this amusing."

"Anything but," Isobel demurred reaching for her tea cup and taking a sip. The tea she found cool but she opted to sip so as to provide a lull, a moment to compose her thoughts.

"I see." Lavinia said heavily. "Then you are to mean to say such things to me."

Evaluating the girl's words Isobel conceded, "Perhaps. Only perhaps one has to be mean from time to time to spare one further agonies."

"Whatever can you mean?"

"I mean only that you remaining on, you needling into whatever crevice of my son's life…it will only complicate matters for him and create further pain for you." Seeing her words were having a certain impact Isobel leaned forward insisting, "Lavinia you are a wise girl surely you must see that continuing to interact with a married man can only lead to pain on your part."

"Matthew loved me." Lavinia declared weakly. It was a truth she had clung to for months and months and needed to cling to particularly desperately now.

Isobel offered her a small reassuring smile, "I believe he did," She said mitigating her words but slightly by adding, "In his way."

"If he had not been…." She paused, a pained expression appearing on her face. "If the accident had not happened we would be man and wife now."

Isobel reached across and laid her glasses atop her book. "You must forgive me Lavinia as a nurse I deal in practicalities and realities versus fantasies and allusions." Her tone was more brusque than Lavinia was accustomed to, but not unkind. "The accident did happen, my boy is paralyzed, and he does have a wife. A wife I must confess," She added continuing, "That I think he does love."

"For how long?" Lavinia challenged. Seeing Isobel's surprised expression she said, "They parted before…whatever the reasons they parted. Two entire years passed without them speaking a word. Surely that speaks of something."

"Their shared stubborness." Isobel granted evenly. "It is by far their worst shared trait, and I do fancy it will not make for the easiest marriage. I do expect they will have their storms to endure."

"Are you quiet certain they will endure?" She had been holding the question close to her breast throughout the discussion waiting for the precise moment to let it slip.

A rare look of surprise settled on Isobel's face. "They are married."

"Marriages are not as final as institution as they once were." Lavinia said simply. "Marriages made in haste can now be dissolved in courts at leisure."

Isobel's face reflected a kind of shock. "No Crawley has ever divorced. Nor any member of my family line either."

"Mary is very progressive." Lavinia clucked surprised at the shock in the woman's voice, and pleased at the rush it provided her. "You cannot imagine she would balk at a scandal." Lowering her voice she added, "Nor can you imagine Lady Mary Crawley will be satisfied as the wife of a middle class solicitor?" Without adding further commentary and with a most triumphant expression Lavinia sailed from the room, leaving a concerned looking Isobel alone.

**.~.~.~.~.**

"Your presence is desired in the morning room." Carson said as Matthew wheeled himself inside the foyer. "Luncheon will be served in a very few moments." Matthew glanced down to avoid the butler seeing his smirk. Carson's meaning could not have been clearer. Whatever conversation he was about to have would be a short one.

"Thank you Carson ." Matthew called moving down the hall with surprising speed, passing without comment a smiling Lavinia. Stopping before the open door he called, "Mary?"

"Me." Sybil answered standing by the window staring past its panes to the landscape beyond.

"I thought your sister…." He said feeling vaguely confused to find Sybil in a pensive nature, so opposite her typical demeanor.

"I needed to speak to you." She said continuing to stare determinedly out the window.

"Here I am." He announced dumbly. The setting and her serious expression struck Matthew as atypical, and as such increased his own unease. "I hope nothing is amiss?"

Sybil chuckled softly. The energy that enlivened her during the hospital tour had dissipated, leaving her again lost amid her own conflicting emotions. "Somewhat," She admitted. "I need to discuss something."

"You sound like my secretary."

"I quite like your secretary." She admitted stepping away from the window. "I admire organization."

"That's the nurse in you." He said with earnest admiration completing the compliment with an easy smile.

"I saw something at the hospital today," She explained continuing, "It is a new procedure, exercise really."

"Nice." Matthew said blandly.

"I want to try it on you." She suggested as quickly as possible

"Absolutely not." He answered rapidly.

Sybil rolled her eyes saying with an air of exasperation, "Why not?"

"Whatever would be the end? I am paralyzed."

"You do not even know what I am suggesting."

"It makes no difference."

"It does make a difference." She insisted a bit more firmly. "These exercises will prevent further atrophying of the limbs." Seeing him about to protest she quickly explained further, "The atrophying could cause further pain." Seeing Matthew had no ready objection to that benefit, she pulled out what she considered her best card. "If you will consent to the exercises I will convince Mary you do not need to see a physician."

Lifting his head Mathew inquired curiously, "However will you manage that task?"

"I have my ways." Sybil vowed offering a curiously self-satisfied smile.

"Well," Matthew granted after considering her words at length. "You know I am rubbish at saying no to a Crawley girl."

"Wonderful!" Sybil said effusively. "Thank you so much Matthew!" Rushing across the room she impulsively hugged him about his shoulders.

Matthew felt his entire face flushing at her actions even while feeling an odd pleasure at her actions. "There is one condition though."

"What?" She asked continuing to hug him.

"We cannot tell Mary about this plan." There was finality in his direction that brokered no room for discussion.

Sybil looked perplexed rather than concerned asking, "Why ever not?"

"Mary has to accept the truth of things." He said flatly. "I don't want her investing in false hopes."

Considering his request Sybil saw his point even if she doubted the wisdom of the plan. "Fine for a bit."

Reaching up Matthew took her hand squeezing it, "I do think its so terribly kind to want to do this for me."

The gesture so touched her that Sybil felt her eyes tear. "I am going to need your kindness. Especially now." She acknowledged with a kind of sadness.

Looking up concern evident in his expression Matthew queried, "Whatever is the matter?"

Feeling suddenly tired Sybil said, "I do not know, not yet. Perhaps nothing, maybe everything..." The emotions that had assaulted her the previous night were threatening a fresh eruption, even as she struggled against them.

"May I be of assistance," He volunteered adding, "Whatever my limitations I retain the strongest of shoulders."

"I may need use of that shoulder." She admitted shyly. "But I do not want to speak of such things, not here anyway."

Matthew nodded his head accepting her words. "But do remember I shall always be here for you as long as I am alive."

A brief frown appeared on Sybil's face but she quickly dismissed it returning his words, "The same is true for me. I'll always be for you too…" Choosing to mimic his words as uneasy as they had left her she added, "As long as I live."

Before any further comment could occur Carson strolled in intoning, "Luncheon is served." All that was left to be said, confessed or cajoled vanished as they fell into the routines of the household.

**.~.~.~.~.**

Luncheon proceeded in an odd impersonal fashion. Despite being gathered in the same room and ostensibly interacting with one another, the occupants of the table were all the time engaging in disconnected and isolated thoughts and expressions. Any conversations that did occur existed largely independent of the others and was of precious little interest to the others.

Midway through the soup, which was a bit lumpy he decided, Robert turned to Isobel who was seated to his right saying, "You seem curiously quiet."

"I have a great deal on my mind." Isobel confessed glancing down the table in her daughter-in-law's direction.

"Yes." Robert said watching the pair with the keenest interest.

Toward the middle of the table Lavinia leaned in asking Sybil, "Did you enjoy your tour of the hospital?"

"I did." Sybil agreed vaguely her mind on other things. With the slightest elevation of interest she added hopefully, "I saw a procedure there I may believe will be of use, possibly even to Matthew." She glanced down to ensure Mary had not been paying attention, and saw she was distractedly spooning her soup.

"Indeed," Lavinia responded brightening at the mere thought. "Oh that would be so wonderful and such a balm considering his current problems."

Sybil turned the slightest furrow appearing across her brow. "What problems?"

Dithering uncertain if her trust would be well placed Lavinia admitted only, "I would not want to betray any confidences."

Catching her implication Sybil demanded, "Has my brother-in-law shared confidences with you?"

"Of course not," Lavinia responded quickly, unwilling to allow dear Matthew even the appearance of seeming inappropriate in even the tiniest of fashions. "But one recognizes these things."

"What things?" Sybil asked feeling her curiosity slightly elevating.

"Tensions," Lavinia answered primly sipping her water.

In another mood Sybil might have pressed further but the train this morning, the hospital it all seemed to be circling around her leaving her mind oddly sluggish. So she merely nodded unable to make sense of Lavinia's prattling.

Lavinia meanwhile turned her attention to the couple toward the end of the table.

If indeed Matthew and Mary were aware of such focus they did not betray such awareness. This may have been borne of equal parts self-preoccupation and disinterest. Whatever the cause both parties kept up a steady stream of banality the entire meal long.

"Did you have a pleasant morning?" Mary inquired with a bland coolness that displayed little interest.

"Very pleasant." Matthew agreed in a equally remote tone.

"How is Sir Anthony's equipment?"

"Very interesting." Matthew said vaguely adding, "Hes engaging me to do some legal work for his estate."

"That's nice." She replied skimming her spoon over the top of his spoon. "The weather is nice too isn't it?"

"Yes." He answered for their seemed nothing more to say. And in this way they passed an entire meal without saying one significant thing.

**.~.~.~.~.**


	21. Chapter 21

I loathe transition chapters but this one is necessary. I am however wildly excited about the next chapter. Meanwhile I am curious what you make of this one. Feedback gets tea and cake.

**.~.~.~.~.**

"The plight of war orphans is one every civic minded woman of Britain must contemplate with the utmost seriousness." Lady Sarah Simon intoned, offering a wan but hopeful smile. A dozen or so ladies were gathered around her sipping tea and eating cucumber sandwiches while she described the state of motherless and fatherless children. It was at moments such as this that Mary understood Sybil's disdain for the aristocracy. Thousands of children needed clothing, basic housing, love, and society's response was to have a tea party. Sybil was correct. It was ridiculous. Of course that meant she was ridiculous too, for hadn't she once tolerated these very things? Mary retained few allusions about herself; she knew she lacked a social conscious. She had political opinions but she kept them to herself. She came to events like this not out of any genuine conviction, instead rather in the manner of fulfilling obligations. Charity was a thing she did, not a conviction she held. In that she supposed she was sadly like most of the ladies seated around her. For whatever her protestations otherwise she was by nature more conformist than she admitted. Two, three years ago she would have attended this event and cataloged every dress, every necklace, stored up a pile of gossip and never spared a single thought for war orphans. Romantically she knew that Sybil would say Matthew had changed her. Mary thought it was not quite so simple as that… Rather life, a nightmarish war, Richard Carlisle, Matthew's injuries, her papa's floundering sense of purpose… So many things had subtly shifted her views. She was not entirely convinced she approved of the changes. She had supposed her initial convictions would last her a lifetime, yet they had crumbled before she passed her late 20's. And no comforting notions seemed to be appearing to replace them. The sound of light clapping brought Mary out of her reverie. Without conscious thought, she began to clap her hands together, absent any real idea what she was applauding. Further, it took little effort to school her features into a properly receptive smile as she mentally composed some platitude to say to the hostess. Some conventions, she realized, were never destined to change. The knowledge oddly reassured her.

Watching Lady Sarah moving slowly in her direction Mary smiled encouragingly. She found the woman a bit unsettling. Mary was uncomfortable around any being who afforded their emotions so free a reign. Still, as the wife of Matthew's employer, and the mother of a war hero Lady Sarah demanded certain deference. For that reason Mary mustered an especially warming smile saying, "What a lovely speech."

Sarah eyed her for only a moment before stating utterly matter of factly; "Don't be ridiculous. It was ghastly." She pronounced before adding ruefully, "Though I suppose it satisfied the ladies of society well enough."

"Yes." Mary agreed feeling rather unfettered at just how one responded to such an outlandish albeit likely true statement.

Sarah offered the slightest smile saying, "I suppose that is not the acceptable thing to say."

"No it is not." Mary agreed seeing little use in lying. It certainly would do the woman no good to agree with such statements. Sybil said the key component of medicine was practicality, Mary supposed that did make a certain sense. It was not practical to support one in making statements that would ostracize her in polite society.

As if recognizing Mary's thoughts, Sarah confided, "You of course do not know me very well, or you would recognize that 2 years ago, 14 months even I would never have voiced such a thought."

It took no mathematical skills to glean her meaning. Mary simply nodded saying, "I see."

Staring back as if finding Mary's response lacking, Sarah paused before requesting, "I wonder if I might have a moment of your time after the tea."

Mary nodded plastering an acquiescing smile across her face, "Of course."

Sarah bobbed her head in response before turning and moving to greet the remainder of her guests.

**.~.~.~.~.**

Letting his head flop back into his pillow with a groan borne of frustration Matthew swore, "How can this be so exhausting when I am doing nothing?"

"Because you are doing something," Sybil gently chastised. "You are working muscles that have remained unused for months. It is slightly better than last week is it not?" There was a half challenge in her question.

"Precious little." He insisted panting as he struggled for air.

Turning Sybil reached over dipping a cloth into a pan of water. Twisting the cloth she wrung it out, watching droplets fall back into the pan. She then laid the cool cloth across his forehead. "I believe that's enough for today."

Closing his eyes in relief Matthew murmured, "If you are waiting for me to object…"

"Very funny." She answered regarding him with a tolerant smile. Applying the slightest of pressure to the cloth, she watched the tension drain from Matthew's features as the cool moisture brought him the slightest relief. More seriously she added, "We knew the first few weeks would be diffi…challenging."

"Did we?" He queried in the most challenging of tones. "I do not remember you sharing that information."

A thin smile touched her lips as she smilingly confessed, "Because I did not want you reconsidering doing the exercises."

"Sometimes," Matthew uttered tiredly, but sounding amused none the less by his observation, "You remind me entirely too much of your sister."

"Well," Sybil retorted raising his leg with one hand while using the other to slide a pillow beneath his knees. "We were raised in the same abbey."

**.~.~.~.~.**

"Thank you for remaining," Lady Sarah said returning to the morning room, having bid the final guest goodbye mere moments before.

"Of course." Mary answered coolly.

Sarah nodded and took her time taking a seat, and then wasted a moment dithering over pouring a cup of tea. As she did she cast furtive glances at her guest. There was about Lady Mary Crawley something very close to unreadable Sarah decided; a duality in the woman; which made easy assessments of her virtually impossible. She seemed better suited to elegant dinners and evenings in society, than the world of the middle class. Still one look at the girl around Matthew, convinced Sarah the Lady Mary was clearly besotted. In a country where many married for society and position, she was convinced Mary had other reasons. That made her pity the girl terribly. She had married for love and she knew what a mess life had made of that. Realizing the gap in conversation had grown awkward she cleared her throat confessing, "You know I used to have socials such as this near weekly." She said before adding absently, "I do wonder why now. They seem perfectly ghastly." Mary's eyes widened slightly causing Sara to chuckle. "I do apologize; grief seems to have rendered me utterly incapable of maintaining a social façade."

"I see," Mary replied nervously. Perfect honesty always made her skittish. She preferred the solace of a well phrased lie, to the uncertainty of the truth. Honesty she found terribly overrated.

"I do appreciate you coming." Sarah continued admitting, "I know the last evening at this house could hardly have given you reason to return."

"Hardly," Mary replied dismissively, all the while thinking Sarah's words functionally correct.

"That is kind of you," She answered offering a slightly dubious expression before acknowledging, "I know my behavior that evening was disappointing." Mary was about to respond but Sarah quickly interjected, "It was. The past few months I have felt myself careening about." She shook her head saying, "My husband hopes that this project will help me locate some balance."

"I see." Mary responded carefully maintaining a neutral tone, all the while hoping Sarah would cease the confessional direction of the conversation.

"I am less certain myself. I generally find life considerably less tidy than that." She stated frankly. Offering a wry smile she said, "You must understand that."

"Me." Mary answered feeling a bit bewildered to find herself drawn into this conversation.

"Your husband's injuries certainly could not have been your expectation when you sent him off to war."

The image of their last moments at the station flooded her mind, and Mary swore that she heard a train whistle in the distance. "No I did not imagine that." Her voice sounded nearer a whisper than a reply.

"How could we have?" There was an enormity to her words that touched Mary even as she tried to emotionally detach herself from that emotion. Sarah sighed as if centering herself before saying, "I suppose we must let go of the old dreams."

"Yes." Mary agreed even if she wasn't sure she truly believed that theory.

"Besides it will be good to be busy again." Sarah stated more determinedly. "I do hope you will assist me."

Mary swallowed her instinctive sigh. She supposed it might be better to keep her lack of concern for others disguised. Whatever her societal role and titles, she recognized that the wife of a young solicitor had certain obligations. "Of course."

"I do apologize for having to impose on you in this manner." She paused adding, "It is only there are so few younger men in the firm or among our circle now."

"Yes." Mary conceded thinking of the number of young men she knew cut down in their prime.

Sarah saved her the trouble of further speculation by saying, "I believe my husband has grown increasing fond of your husband."

"Mr. Crawley is a fine solicitor." Mary had no basis for this comment, but she did not doubt its veracity. Even when she thought him bumptious and doubted his ability to handle a fork, she recognized the fineness of his mind.

"So I gather," Sarah granted adding shrewdly. "I suppose the question is…are you to be a fine solicitor's wife?"

**.~.~.~.~.**

"Are you feeling a bit better now?" Sybil questioned carefully. After his secessions it had become her routine to sit quietly by his side for a time, allowing his muscles to relax and his temper to mollify. They had only been practicing these exercises for a week, still Sybil retained a nurse's instinct for the best post-procedure treatment. Some patients required support, some a sympathetic ear, some tea and a comforting smile. Matthew just liked to have a proper moan about his treatment. He'd lay about the pillows churlishly detailing every pain and ache, or at least usually he did. Today he was oddly quiet. Thinking he had not even heard her question Sybil repeated, "Are you feeling recovered?"

"Not particularly." Matthew admitted turning his head to face her with a weary countenance.

"Were the exercises so very tiring?"

"I suppose not." He glumly acknowledged, proceeding to look down with the most pitiful of expressions.

Sighing Sybil demanded, "Can you please just talk to me." As if wanting to strengthen her argument she added, "I am not my sister. I do talk. So," She prodded sounding most insistent.

Matthew sighed again before stating, "I do not want to drag you into this."

"You are not dragging me." She stated adding, "And I really cannot endure another week of you and Mary's mournful woe is us behavior."

"We have not been that bad." He said before a doubtful feeling seemed to rise up in him causing him to inquire, "Were we?"

"Worse." She answered firmly. As if justifying her concern Sybil noted, "Mary is my sister. You are my brother now." Sitting back against the chair she observed plainly, "It does me no good if the pair of you are miserable."

"We are not miserable." Even as he spoke he recognized the truth of his words. Even in their unhappiness he had not felt the misery he might have expected. Mary's feelings he could be less certain of, even as he believed he knew the reason for her late state.

Sybil regarded him with a dubious expression saying, "You have been doing a fair impression of it."

"We are British we do not know how to deal with emotions of any sort."

Sybil studied him uncertainly. She had recognized Matthew had developed a talent for papering over his actual feelings burying them beneath a veneer of feigned contentment. It was the thing about him that frightened her most. That if the world became too much he could fool everyone into thinking himself perfectly at peace.

"Tell me what you think," She requested gently. "Anything…"

Matthew sighed before glancing up as if expecting to glean insight from the ceiling. "There is nothing to say really. We truly are not arguing."

"I would feel better if you were." Sybil replied thoughtlessly. "I am sorry," She said adding, "Please do go on."

Smiling slightly Matthew confessed, "I feel very much the same. Mary arguing with me comforts me actually. At those moments I feel…" He looked away letting the thought drift off. As if accompanying the discomfort of the thought, a sudden hot jolt of pain ripped down the whole of his back and the length of his spine. Resisting the urge to buck against the pain, he closed his eyes taking several deep breaths.

Recognizing his symptoms, Sybil hurriedly dipped the cloth into the cold water in the basin beside the bed. Wringing it out she then hurriedly mopped his forehead wiping away the sweat forming there. "Where is she?" Sybil asked knowing the answer, but also cognizant that Matthew took a subtle pleasure in just speaking about Mary.

He delayed answering her, willing the pain recede if only slightly, before replying. The little aftershocks continued to roll down his spine causing him to pant slightly. At length the pain flagged if only slightly and Matthew was able to answer, "She is attending a tea for war orphans held by Lady Sarah." He said before continuing, "After that she will shop for an hour or so. Then we will have an early dinner and a quiet evening at home." He noted these things as if they equaled a harmony of existence.

"I asked for information not an itinerary."

"I don't know," Seeing Sybil's slightly raised brow he said, ""Well she has not said precisely…"

"I feel as if I have slipped into a Henry James novel." Sybil said despairingly as if being caught in a novel was the worst of fates.

"Have you ever read a Henry James novel?"

"I read four chapters of the Bostonians." Her forehead creased as she said despairingly, "All those semicolons and sentences that went on and on. I felt as if I had gone through War and Peace before he even introduced Verena Tarrant." She shook her head dismissing the unpleasant memory of sentences that never ended.

Sinking back against the pillows Matthew sighed saying, "She went to Downton and the ceremony and she realized what a poor lot she has settled for."

"Whatever does that mean?" Sybil questioned tiredly, since coming back she had tried with little success to place the events at Downton in the very back of the back of her mind.

"You must know." Matthew insisted tiredly. "She went to Downton, and she saw all the things she had given up, the life she should have had." Letting his head loll back against the pillow he justified his statement bemoaning, "How could she not feel regrets?"

**.~.~.~.~.**

Sarah sipped her tea letting the implications of her words sink in… For her part Mary kept her features stilled giving no outward sign of her true feelings. Several long awkward moments passed, less awkward for Sarah as she had grown accustomed to and even fond of silence. "I hope I have not spoken out of turn." She supposed she did or should feel that way…

"Of course not." Mary replied in a dry tone.

"Solicitors have very demanding lives, hardly the sort of existence your father experienced." Sarah noticed Mary's eyes narrowed slightly, but she made no comment. "I mean no disrespect by that statement merely to provide some insight."

"Of course." Mary answered a bit hastily, therefore making her assurance difficult to accept. "Matthew is his own man, I would hardly expect him to follow anyone else's behavior."

"I was referring to your own behavior," Sarah prodded a tad insistently. "I imagine the life you are embarking on is quite different than the one you imagined."

Mary took a sip of tea before answering with a sniff of disapproval, "I believe my husband is content."

Sarah nodded saying, "Indeed it is clear that you both are." She granted evenly. "But it is early days, marriage is a long business."

Not relishing any part of the conversation Mary demanded coolly, "I am afraid that I do not understand your meaning?"

Setting her tea cup aside Sarah said, "Only this. Once I was in your very shoes. Married to a young barrister, inexperienced, thrust into a world quite the opposite of the one I had been reared for…" She again paused before concluding, "I only wish that should you require assistance you feel free to come to me." Sensing Mary might object she quickly added, "It would be a pleasure to help you in any way." Sighing as if glad the subject was done she altered her tone saying almost in relief, "Now that is dispensed you must tell me about the new frocks I looked about this afternoon, and felt I looked a decade out of place." And so they discussed trivialities for the remainder of their visit, though Lady Sarah's earlier words never left Mary's mind.

**.~.~.~.~.**

"Did Mary tell you she regretted leaving Downton?"

Fixing her with a disbelieving expression Matthew replied, "Mary would never say that."

"Because it wouldn't be true," She asserted in the most decided of tones.

"Of course it's true." A sense of glumness had come over him, and he spoke without the slightest doubt he was correct.

"It is not true." Sybil insisted empathetically. She inhaled deeply before continuing pensively. "You were not around in 15, 16 and most of 17."

"The war was difficult for all of us."

"It wasn't just the war." She paused considering what to say, how much to admit. Mary would want her to say nothing of course, but Sybil thought that the wrong course. "All Mary wanted after you left was for you to come back. Then you came back with Lavinia." Matthew turned away a guilty expression on his face. "Still all she wanted then was for you to come back safe." She took a breath the bleakness of the time affecting her. "When you were injured and Lavinia went away, if you had said one word she would have married you and happily. And eventually," She said softly, "You did say the word, and she did marry you and quite happily."

"It's an arrangement." Matthew said bluntly. "You know that."

"I know what you say. But I also know my sister."

"But she is unhappy, you see it." There was more stubbornness than conviction in his words.

Sybil nodded saying, "Something has upset her, but you have the power to fix that."

"I'm not enough."

"For her you are." She said her voice rising slightly agitated. "I know you don't believe that. I know you see yourself as broken, but Mary doesn't. I don't. Papa doesn't. We see you for the man you are. And we love that man."

Matthew shook his head stating, "I have no right to that love especially Mary's love." He shook his head as if dismissing the idea wholly. "I would be nothing more than a thief. Using love as a justification to steal her life away." Anticipating her argument he quickly interjected, "What can I give her. The life of a childless nun, a prospect of lifelong nursing and sterile devotion…"

Sybil studied him for a moment before saying only, "I don't believe Mary sees it that way."

Matthew said nothing remaining contemplative even after Sybil left the room and he settled down for a nap. His mind weighted down with all he learned, and all that could mean even as he drifted off to a weary rest.

**.~.~.~.~.**

"Good evening my dear," Peter called automatically as he entered the drawing room.

"How was the club?" Sarah inquired equally automatically. She had been sitting on the brown chesterfield sofa since shortly after Mary departed pondering the event and her own life. Her husband's greeting had pierced that solitude. Listening to his greeting, and her own response she realized that they had enacted the same opening lines for all the thirty two years of their marriage. Substitute club and office, interchange tea and afternoon and you could transcribe a transcript of their conversation for all their days. Routine had gotten to be such a habit with them, that moments of spontaneity or surprise left them adrift, uncertain how to respond. No wonder they had both struggled so in the past months. The script of their lives had been snatched away and they were poor improvisers.

"Fine, fine." He answered tonelessly. "And how was the tea?" He smiled a toothy, eager smile.

"Fine, fine." She echoed dispassionately. Sensing his continued attention she added, "I believe it provoked some interest in the cause."

Toting his port over to the chair Peter smiled saying, "That is good isn't it?"

"I believe it may be." She knew her tone was not what he would have wished; still she could not summon more enthusiasm.

"Well if I can be of any assistance you will let me know?"

"Of course." She promised blandly knowing all the while she would hardly ask such assistance.

Whether sensing his wife's unwillingness to discuss the subject, or owing to his own shifting desire to discuss his day Peter suddenly announced, "I ran into Richard Carlisle at the club." He lifted the glass to his lips before confiding; "He asked us to join him for dinner next week."

"That's a bit odd." Sarah observed adding vacantly, "Who is Richard Carlisle?"

"He's a Scottish newspaperman. Hardly our sort," He confided while acknowledging, "Still I suppose we should go."

"Why would a publisher want to dine with us?"

Peter shrugged before smiling and speculating, "Perhaps he wants some office tidbits. News on our clients." Seeing Sarah's frown, "Oh I don't know…I suppose we shall just have to wait and see."

"A very liberal attitude." She judged uncomfortably.

"Well," He said, "It is a new world." In moments, as she had known he would, he opened the newspaper and began perusing the news, leaving Sarah again alone with her thoughts.

**.~.~.~.~.**

Matthew came to consciousness slowly. The haze of his dreams slowly receding as he drifted into a more lucid state, opening his eyes he turned looking into a glass of water sitting on his bedside table, catching sight of his wife's hazy reflection through the contours of the glass. Forcing his head up, he asked, "Where is Sybil?"

"At the clinic."

"Have I been sleeping long?"

Mary lifted his wrist watch from the table, glancing at it stating, "Over an hour."

"You should have woken me." He offered apologetically.

"You need your rest."

"Yes." He agreed uneasily. Lying was not a thing he had ever been much good at, and lying to Mary felt wrong. Still to tell her more would raise hopes, hopes he could only ever dash. "A nap was nice." He finished weakly rather akin to a cricket player limping off the field. As an afterthought he remembered her opinion on the subject. "I decided to reconsider your suggestion." Mary had been pushing naps on him since they married. He had rejected the notion, and still loathed the idea seeing it as yet one more sign of his decrepitude. Still Mary loved to be right, and loved even more to be acknowledged as right.

Predictably, she smiled, "I am glad you revaluated my suggestion." She said in a tone suggesting that his doing so was the only possible conclusion.

He gave a brief nod before realizing his lapse in manners. "How was the tea?"

"Hot with a dash of lemon."

It took him a moment before a smile quirked at the corner of his lips. "Do be serious." Remembering Sybil's words Matthew reached out patting the mattress and inviting, "Why don't you join me, and tell me about it." Mary eyed him skeptically for only a moment before rising to join him on the mattress. As she removed her shoes and made herself comfortable Matthew confided, "Sybil gave me a good talking to earlier." He admitted settling back against his pillow. Mary's sole response was the lifting of a single eyebrow, otherwise she remained determinedly silent. "She feels that I have been remiss in my duties to you." His tone dropping as he added pointedly, "The ones I am capable of fulfilling."

"I have no idea what she is referring to." She asserted determinedly.

"Mary." He cautioned patiently. "I know you have been upset since Downton."

Mary looked away as if unwilling to answer his comment. Then seemingly desiring to reassure him she reached for his hand, squeezing it lightly she promised, "It is not about you. I'm quite happy with you."

A slight frown crossed Matthew's face. "You have not been happy…not since Downton." Seeing Mary's mouth open he spoke before she could saying, "You don't have to say anything. Mary I understand. Believe I do understand."

"Do you?" Mary questioned doubtfully.

"I know. It must be difficult to go to Downton and see all that you have lost." His words were so quiet they were almost whispered. "And I know that I am no sort of husband."

"You are the best sort." She reassured automatically. Unwilling to allow Matthew to further blame himself Mary reached out taking his hand in her own. "Darling," She said determinedly. "It isn't that."

Uncertain if she was telling the truth, but willing to accept her narrative Matthew asked gently, "What then?"

"You must give me time Matthew. There are things I must sort out."

Looking unsurprised by her answer, Matthew nodded before replying, "I do understand. And of course you may have all the time you need. I only hope," He paused glancing down at their still joined hands. "I do hope…" Expelling a breath he finally said, "I only want you to be happy."

A wave of emotion flooded over Mary, his kind words clearly affecting her more than she might have expected. "Oh Matthew…"

Running his thumb lightly over her wedding ring Matthew stated, "We have both spent so much of our lives being unhappy. Perhaps in the time we have together we should try and be happy."

Mary studied him her expression guarded. "What precisely does that mean?"

Matthew met her gaze suggesting, "I suppose we shall have to work that out."

"Perhaps we shall." Mary agreed fighting to maintain her composure.

He winced as a pain jerked through his spine making him clench the sheets in his fist. Mary rested her palm atop his forehead, her touch so soothing and cool Matthew could not help sighing. He chuckled slightly in spite of the pain. "I suppose this isn't the best time to have this discussion."

"Well," Mary surmised brushing a stray hair from his forehead, "Timing has never been our strong suit."

"Tell me about the tea." He suggested rising a hand to cover the yawn escaping his mouth. "I know we have graver matters to discuss but for now…could you only tell me about the tea." It was almost a plea.

"It hardly matters now." She asserted running her fingers over his forehead.

"It does to me." He insisted tiredly. "Besides," He said fighting another yawn, " Your voice relaxes me."

A shy smile appeared on Mary's face as she said, "Does it."

"Yes." He said feeling a twinge of shyness himself. "It always has."

"Truly." She asked as if unable to quite believe his words.

"Truly," He promised, before prompting her again; "Tea talk…"

"Well," Mary began, "It was the usual assortment of society…" Reaching up he closed his hand around her wrist rubbing her knuckles lightly against his cheek. Sensing the motion soothed him Mary continued speaking. Her tone growing increasingly soft, watching his eyelids slide closed, and listening to his breathing even out…

** .~.~.~.~.**


	22. Chapter 22

This chapter is …different. You know generally I have ideas for what should happen but nothing concrete or certain. This chapter however I literally saw it in like flashes of vision in a dream I had. I got right up and started writing. Then I had to do all this research to support the visions. Feedback is beloved and most desired.

**.~.~.~.~.**

"What a perfectly dreary day to make property evaluations." Henderson bemoaned glancing out at the rain pouring down on the street. Floating back toward Matthew's desk with a frown he observed pitifully, "Ducks could drown on such a day." Henderson it must be said had a tendency to examine a situation and arrive at the most depressing conclusion.

Matthew glanced up from his paperwork saying disinterestedly, "Fortunately we are not ducks and as such can endure."

"Oh I am certain we shall," Henderson agreed displaying no conviction of that certainty whatsoever. "You do remember I do not drive."

"I could scarcely forget it, as you have reminded me several times this hour." Matthew said putting a cap on his fountain pen, and placing it in my pocket. "I have telephoned my valet and he will be arriving shortly."

"Your valet drives?"

"He worked at a hospital during the war." Matthew stated as if that provided answer enough. He instantly regretted the explanation as it brought torturous memories roaring to the surface. The sickbed smells, the wounds, the dawning realization of the limits of medicine and hopes. Placing a hand on his neck, he inhaled deeply trying to forget that he seemed cursed only to remember.

"Well I hope he has kept the skill up."

Matthew almost chuckled, grateful for once for Henderson's nattering. "I'm quite certain he has." Thinking about driving at least got him out of the damn trenches.

Henderson was about to retort when they both glanced toward his open office door, and the sight of the lovely brunette standing there.

"Lady Mary." Henderson almost swooned as Mary entered the room. And indeed, Matthew decided his wife was worthy of a swoon as she was garbed in a red dress and coat which clung neatly to her curves without being overtly revealing. Henderson seemed to approve of the outfit as well for his smile became very nearly beatific. "I did not know we were to be graced with the pleasure of your company."

"Nor did I." Matthew stated his brow furrowing.

Mary slowly peeled off a glove explaining, "Well when Thomas said he was going to chauffer you about looking at houses, I thought you might enjoy my company."

Matthew considered this for a moment before replying, "I did not remember you having much fascination for inspecting cottages."

A moment passed before Mary smiled gently chiding him saying,"How many times must I remind you to pay no attention to the things I say."

Henderson seemingly feeling ignored began babbling, "Of course I will be happy to accompany Lady Mary this afternoon….and yourself of course." He said casting a look downward at Matthew.

Matthew could barely stomach his voice, and found himself pondering his choices…. "Well Henderson," He spoke at length, "I believe you shall be spared the fate of a duck." A pout appeared almost immediately on Henderson's face, and he stomped his way past Mary back into the reception area. Matthew fought against the smile that was building within him saying, "I suppose you shall be forced to play clerk this afternoon."

Returning his smile Mary cautioned him in the coyest of tones, "You must not tell Sybil. She will be entirely too pleased to have another Crawley entering the working class."

**.~.~.~.~.**

"The Baths of Caracalla were the second largest bath complex during the Roman Empire and were in use from the 200's A.D. until their destruction during the Gothic War." Edith read aloud from a pamphlet she had purchased at the hotel. Patrick closed his eyes against the dry retort fighting to escape. Day after day Edith crept around ruins of the long dead society clutching small pamphlets, and spouting off facts like an overly eager pupil hoping to please an exacting headmaster. Patrick knew, of course he knew, that she did these things for him; she wanted so much to please him. As if sensing his state she began speaking saying,"Am I talking too much?" She asked nervously. "If I am..."

"No, no of course not." He reassured softly, hoping that she heard a conviction he did not detect in his words.

"I know I talk a great deal." She confessed glancing downward clearly a bit shy at the admission. "Archaeology has always been a passion; I can go on and on."

He smiled, "I enjoy listening to you."

"Thank you, dear heart." She answered offering him a shy smile before returning to her pamphlet.

Patrick pushed against the sense of relief he felt when she became absorbed in the mosaic tile patterning. Tile was a thing of great interest to Edith, she could discuss it for hours. He had learned more about tile at the first ruin they had visited than he had ever hoped to know; and they had visited several ruins since.

Purposefully lagging behind, Patrick watched Edith walking ahead clearly fixing all her attention on the tiles and pathways. He wondered how much of her focus was a kind of self-deception, a way of ignoring the growing silences between them. So often he was convinced that she talked merely to avoid acknowledging that they had nothing to say, as if her words could bridge the gap expanding between them. And so they strolled on, and she talked on, as they waited for whatever was to come next.

**.~.~.~.~.**

Jonathan Garrett strolled into the clinic tugging his necktie loose. He inhaled deeply taking in the smell of ammonia, and disinfectant that wafted through the air. Such aromas were repellant to most people; to him they were sweeter than any perfume. He was not entirely sure what that said about his priorities, but he seldom had opportunity to question such things.

"Good afternoon," A nurse called as he walked down the hallway nearest his office.

Garrett barely glanced up merely demanding, "Has Miss Crawley arrived?" As he spoke he turned focusing his attention on the acute ward. These were the patients with the most serious wounds, the wounds that required constant supervision and care. Whenever he returned to the clinic this was the room he first visited.

The nurse said, "Just."

Turning his eyes from the ward Garrett declared, "Please ask her to join me in my office." The nurse nodded before scurrying off in the opposite direction. Garrett cast one further glance at the acute ward before turning and stalking toward his office.

Stepping into his room he strode to the closet shrugging off his overcoat, hanging it in the closet. He then pulled on his white coat ridiculously glad to exchange the role of fundraiser for that of doctor. Crossing the room he walked to his desk collapsing in the chair with a weary smile.

In moments a knock on the door caused him to look upward calling, "Come in."

Sybil slipped in smiling as she questioned. "How was your morning?"

Frowning he answered, "I spent the last two hours begging for money."

"Fundraising." Sybil surmised, carefully maintaining a neutral tone.

He nodded furrowing his brow, "Begging." He repeated scrubbing his hands over his face he asked, "How is John Guthrie?"

"I have not seen him yet."

"Not today," He corrected gruffly reaching into his pocket and withdrawing a pack of cigarettes. Tapping the packet he removed one. "In general. What is your view of his condition?" There was a sharpness to his tone, as if frustrated he should be expected to explain such things.

Sybil swallowed her instinctive retort saying instead, "Physically he is improving."

He exhaled stating, "That's a guarded diagnosis."

"His mood varies from hour to hour and sometimes minute to minute."

He seemed to consider this for a minute before inhaling, acknowledging; "I agree."

"Was his behavior similar in his earlier hospitalizations?"

He shrugged exhaling smoke seemingly wholly engaged in the process. "It's less pronounced now."

"That's a good sign." Sybil suggested optimistically.

"I doubt it." He disagreed stubbing the cigarette against the ashtray. "I think he's moved past caring."

**.~.~.~.~.**

The drumbeat of raindrops on the metal echoed inside the car. Matthew had leaned back and closed his eyes focusing on the movement with his upper torso. It was an experiment he had been trying lately…depriving himself of some senses to see what the remaining ones felt. And even with his eyes closed he could feel the careful movement of the car. Thomas, he decided, was a careful driver. The signs were all there; low speed, the slow, cautious turns. A military driver, he surmised, remembering the focus put on caution and care, the argument one should think before he made a single turn. Dodging mines, transporting the ill…military driving was an exercise in cautioned and Thomas clearly carried the mentality with him. God knows, they all carried so much of the war into the peace.

As if noticing her husband's state Mary reached over tugging his hand, applying the gentlest pressure as she enclosed it within her own hands. "I am beginning to feel quite ignored." She teased lightly. "Besides you have not told me what duties I am to perform as your clerk."

Matthew smiled the notion of Mary clerking drawing him from his darker musings. "Nothing so serious my dear," He promised gifting her with a smile. "But you do have a nicer hand than I," He said squeezing her fingers gently. "As such, I may want you to fill in some information on the documents."

"I see." She agreed adding, "I was surprised when Thomas told me you were touring houses. I thought you were set on being a Barrister."

"I am quite." He agreed thoughtfully, "But the firm is frightfully short of hands and so Peter asked me to assist with looking over the rental properties."

"That's a far cry from your industrial interest."

He nodded, "A bit but I have some interest in real estate."

"Oh," Mary said turning to face him.

"Yes for that matter I am grateful you joined me, as I'd like your opinion on it."

"My opinion," Mary replied slightly taken aback by his words. "Whatever for?" She asked curiously. "I know nothing of real estate."

"I doubt that." He said dubiously adding, "But if so then perhaps it is time you learn."

Mary sighed as if the idea was tedious. "Real estate concerns people like you and Papa."

"And you. You may not be the Countess but you are my wife. I would think it wise for you to understand the investments I make."

"Why?" She inquired almost playfully. "You can handle such tasks."

He looked down at his hands. "But if I couldn't I'd like you to be able to handle things."

She turned away staring into the rain. "You know I do not like you speaking of such things."

"Alright," He granted amiably, "We can pretend you are a divorcee handling your property after you met Mr. Lord Whatever."

She looked back at him anger flashing in her eyes. "Matthew do be quiet. To think…. Sometimes I believe you do not know me at all…"

He reached over stroking her cheek with his first two fingers, "I fear I do know you to well… I only want ….you should know these things." He insisted determinedly. "Look at them as an investment in us if you must, but I do want you to understand."

Mary peered silently at him for a long moment, "If you desire I will learn for your sake, but," Her voice was firm, brokering no argument. "You must never discuss the other. I cannot bear such talk."

Giving her face one last gentle caress Matthew nodded granting, "As long as you learn."

**.~.~.~.~.**

Patrick did not consider himself a deeply introspective man. He feared even before the water intellect was not his forte. Still, he could hardly ignore the recurring role water seemed to be occupying in his life. The lake at Downton which he favored as a child, the shipwreck that altered his life, now his honeymoon consisted of visiting hydraulic ruins. It did not take much reaching to see a theme connecting throughout his life, but he was lost as to what that theme might signify. Edith was off on another of her tangents talking about the chambers of the bath and the methods of construction, tile work, and a thousand other details that made his head ache. He felt utterly convinced that he now knew far, far more about the Roman empire than any human would ever wish to know. Seeing her walking back toward him, Patrick plastered a forced smile on his face. "Having a nice time?"

Edith smiled happily, "Oh very. This is all so very exciting don't you think?"

"Yes very." Marriage, he was discovering, was papered with a thousand miniscule well intentioned lies. Seeing her glancing almost disappointedly at him he tried to widen his smile calling, "Salvom lavisse."

Her smile brightened as she said happily, "Oh you remembered." Rather recounting a memory or offering a prompt she said, "That was the first Latin phrase you taught me!"

Patrick puzzled over why in the world he would have said such a thing to her, but he only replied, "Of course my dear." He didn't have the heart to tell her he had read the phrase in one of her pamphlets a few days ago.

**.~.~.~.~.**

Seeing Thomas turning down a secluded drive Mary glanced interestedly at the very small houses located on the street. "Are these bachelor apartments?"

Matthew sat forward leaning to look out at the houses she was mentioning, "Mary these are family residences."

"An entire family lives in these houses?" She asked clearly shocked by the very notion.

Matthew chuckled sound bemused, "Yes Mary. A whole family."

"Well you needn't sound so superior." Mary chided adding seemingly off handedly. "I am only thinking that forced to live in such a confined space with Edith, I would have been forced to enact the Murder Edith Book."

"That was a real book?" Matthew asked his eyebrow arching.

"Yes. One of the maids helped me with the binding."

"Interesting." Matthew observed as Thomas stopped the car.

Taking Thomas' hand Mary stepped from the car and walked to the house to wait.

In moments Matthew rolled up calling in the jolliest of tones, "Well here we are."

Mary smiled saying, "It is lovely seeing you in a good mood."

Matthew did not respond, instead digging into his coat pocket he produced a key which he palmed into her hand. He then rolled back waiting expectantly.

Mary flashed him a smile before turning to face the lock. It was of course much newer and somewhat different than the ones at Downton. She chided herself thinking a key was a key and pushed it in but it did not turn.

"Mary," Matthew disrupted her concentration, seeming to swallow a chuckle. "You do know how to open a door?"

Turning around Mary scowled answering, "Of course I have opened a door…just not this kind."

Smiling a tad smugly Matthew teased, "Must I teach you everything." And for a moment the tone was so familiar Mary felt she could close her eyes and see a man in a cap approaching her on a bench. She reached up to extend the key and was surprised when he placed his large warm hand atop hers muttering, "Like this."

It was something of a stretch for Matthew to reach the door and the extent he was leaning forward caused Mary to gently caution, "Be careful darling."

"I have things well in hand," He vowed gently turning their hands to shift the key. Hearing the lock turn he glanced up saying victoriously. "We did that quite well."

"We always do well together." Mary replied pushing the door open, letting Matthew roll in before her.

**.~.~.~.~.**

Garrett continued reading the case file on Gutherie turning the pages and occasionally reaching for his cigarette. At length he returned the file to the desk and returned his attention to Sybil. "How do you feel about treating the patient?"

"He's a patient." Sybil answered matter of factly. "It is my responsibility."

Garrett nodded saying, "That's a textbook answer." He leaned back in his chair sighing tiredly, "So much of this job refuses to conform to the textbooks. Begging for money, trying to heal those who will never be healed…"

"You don't think Joh…Mr. Guthrie can be healed." His head jerked at her words. She realized he had caught her initial word and waited expectantly for his response.

"How is your brother-in-law's treatment coming?"

Thrown by his question Sybil answered, "Very well. Thank you. He's still adjusting to the exercises and…"

"You know of course," He began testily, "That it can only maintain."

"Yes," She said further confused by the comment. "But I can help him…"

"You should be careful." He cautioned his expression somber and his tone more serious than she expected. "Medicine can become a kind of romance, where you see yourself as a savior. John Guthrie is unlikely to conform to that model, nor are many patients. I highly doubt your brother-in-law will either."

**.~.~.~.~.**

By the time they had reached the third property Mary understood her role. She was to serve as Matthew's eyes and legs. She climbed the stairs and went into rooms while he remained on the ground floor. Fortunately her long walks with her father had skilled her in looking for structural anomalies and weaknesses, and she had a keen eye for details like wallpaper and paint that Matthew barely bothered about. The first three houses they both agreed were poor possibilities for sale as they would require much rebuilding. The fourth neither liked simply for cosmetic rationales.

"You have an eye for this." Matthew complimented appreciatively once they returned to car.

"Perhaps in my next life I will be an estate manager." Mary responded blithely.

A rueful expression crossed Matthew's face as he softly confessed, "I thought you would aim a bit higher than that. " He glanced over saying, "Are my middle class ways infecting you?"

Mary feigned consideration before dismissing the notion, "Of course not. My rearing is far too strong for such a lapse to occur."

Matthew smiled before glancing off in the opposite direction, "I used to think of doing things like this," Matthew's words broke the comfortable silence. "During the war," he added as if his words required further explanation. "I used to imagine things like this…simple things." He shook his head adding, "When you are in a place like that you need to believe in little things like that."

"And what sort of house did you imagine." Mary asked sarcasm tinting her words. "A little cottage for you and Lavinia?" She did not entirely cover the disdain in her words.

A moment passed before he responded an odd expression crossing his face. "What makes you believe I was speaking of Lavinia? He turned to look out at the rain and said nothing further.

** .~.~.~.~.**

"Your wounds are healing nicely." Sybil pronounced. Keeping a careful eye on John's response Sybil noted the intensity of his focus on the stitches, and accordingly quickly rewound the bandage about his wrist removing the threads from view.

A soft chuckle caused her to glance upwards. "The look of the things won't sway my actions one way or the other." There was decisiveness in his tone that dismayed her.

"I was not worried about that." A lie really, but one could not wholly avoid that in medicine.

He chuckled again seemingly bemused by her words. "Of course you are. It is a funny thing the way medical professionals seem so concerned about my emotions. I feel like an overly indulged society girl."

Sybil suppressed a smile. "Then you must feel quite lovely."

He nodded as if granting her point. "Indeed, a pretty girl at my beck and call." He leaned back against his pillow. "So how is your brother-in-law?"

Glancing up in surprise Sybil said, "How do you know about my brother-in-law?"

"The nurses here are terrible gossips," He confided with a cheeky grin adding without the slightest bit of shame. "And I'm a tremendous eavesdropper." Waiting a beat added, "So?"

"He's fine." Sybil answered turning to her instruments and dropping them in a basin for cleaning.

"Please nurse I pass hours a day with no news."

Sybil sighed, "I am utilizing some rehabilitation exercises on him." She explained adding, "He's paralyzed you see." He nodded encouraging her to continue, "The exercises may allow him to retain his muscle strength."

"To what purpose?"

She paused a moment deciding how to best explain her decision. "I believe the exercises will aid his long term existence."

"I do despair of this medical need to go on and on prodding on the wounded." Shaking his head he said, "Garrett has tried to nurse me through," He stopped pausing to calculate the number, "Three of these attempts. He's been spectacularly unsuccessful."

"And you think my exercises will be unsuccessful."

He merely shrugged and changed the subject leaving Sybil feeling increasingly uncertain.

**.~.~.~.~.**

If the first four houses were not entirely to her taste, the fifth house just utterly confounded Mary. It sat on a large piece of property which Mary quite liked. The lawn had lovely trees and she presumed a lovely garden existed in the back. The house itself thought was a pure mystery to her. It was not a small cottage or bungalow; instead it was a large house. However, it seemed to be a single story. Once the car was stopped Mary took Thomas' hand to step from the car. Knowing her husband's prickliness about being removed from the car, Mary walked to the porch, while pretending to study the lawn with great interest. After a few moments Thomas rolled Matthew up the ramp, she had not observed, on the other side of the porch. He pulled the key out of his overcoat pocket, and handed it to her, she did not need so much coaching now. "An Earl's daughter opening doors," She remarked teasingly.

Matthew rolled in saying, "The switch should be on the wall somewhere." Wordlessly Thomas felt along the wall until he found it. The switch was lower than he was accustomed to and after switching it he glanced over at Matthew. "A house designed for a cripple."

"Matthew," Mary chastised fixing him with a pointed look.

"No," He said gesturing to the document. "That's what it says on the paper."

"They wrote that?" She queried glancing and seeing that was indeed in the notes for the house. "How horrible."

Shrugging Matthew stated, "It was built by a woman whose husband was wounded in the Crimean." He cast a glance over at Thomas and saw the same haunted expression that he was confident appeared on his face, and for a moment he could hear the sound of artillery and cries of the damned. Blinking he tried to push the thoughts away, thus he deliberately turned toward Mary. Her gaze was soft and accepting, dimming the echoes of the gunfire in his mind.

"What shall we look at first?" She asked softly.

"Whatever you like."

"Let's start with the morning room." She said crossing to stand behind his wheelchair. "Thomas will you inspect the servant's quarters?"

Thomas nodded saying, "Yes Milady."

"The light in the morning room is nice," Mary observed as she pushed him into the room.

Matthew twisted to look at her. "The dust is an inch thick."

"And the room is a decent size." She said recalling, "In the other houses the morning rooms were entirely too small." Matthew was glancing through the documents and offered only grumbling assent. "Oh," She gasped glancing out the window. "It has the makings of a very respectable garden."

"Oh good." Matthew replied making a note on the file. "That will increase the value."

"This is a nicer house than the others." She acknowledged evenly. "Still so terribly small but nice."

"Yes and easily marketable."

"Oh?" She said turning to face him with a curious expression.

"Lots of disabled servicemen," He noted matter of factly.

"Of course," Mary said clearly lost in her thoughts. "I am going to look at the rest of the house? Do you want to come along?"

"Not particularly." He sighed continuing to study his documents. "One crippled house is the same as another."

Mary rolled her eyes stating, "I am going to look around a bit. When I return please try and pretend you are in a better mood."

**.~.~.~.~.**

Once the sound of Mary's heels disappeared down the hall Matthew sighed pinching the bridge of his nose. Even Mary was tiring of his self-pity and dark musings. Not that he blamed her. It was good she was tiring of him. It would be easier afterward for her this way. Still, it did hurt. Well everything hurt. Oh Matthew felt the blackest of black moods settle upon him. Drifting into his ever darker thoughts he was startled to hear a voice call out, "Dad?" The voice was female and strange to him. Again the woman called, "Dad are you here? Dad?"

Matthew turned around as fully as he could turn around, "Is someone here?" Getting no response he called again, "Is someone else here?"

**.~.~.~.~.**

Flipping on the light in the second bedroom Mary felt her lips lifting into an atypical smile. Clearly a nursery the room had a jungle theme with elephants, lions and tigers depicted in a sunny way that any small child might love. Mary was still looking around the room appreciatively when she heard Matthew calling and she hurried toward his voice. "Is someone else in this house."

"Matthew is something wrong?" Mary called hurrying down the hall toward the morning room.

For his part, Matthew was rolling himself around the room clearly searching for something. When Mary entered the room she too looked around eager to see what was upsetting him. She saw nothing. "Darling is something wrong?"

"Someone was calling," He said insistently. "Did you…?"He retracted the question fearful of its implication. "I thought I heard someone," He said dismissively as if recounting a mistake.

Mary glanced around before retreating toward the hall, seeing the door buttoned shut. "Perhaps it was Thomas." She suggested.

"I am certain I heard someone." He assented uneasily. Still he could not put the odd experience behind him even an hour later when they left the house and drove home.

**.~.~.~.~.**

Tucked into a corner of a small building, the hotel's restaurant catered primarily to travelers who wanted to dine in Italy as if safely back in England. The meals were plain and English in design. This night the room was filled and the conversation of the diners very nearly drowned out the sound of the trio playing on the small stage. Patrick and Edith however remained silent as if to busy enjoying the food and wine to bother conversing. Silence had become a staple in their meals as expected as glasses of wine or tarts for dessert. Such inaction could be viewed as a natural result of spending the entirety of the day together, but was instead a natural result of an ever dawning realization they had little to say. After hours and hours touring ruins and making small talk, they passed the evenings in increasing silence.

**.~.~.~.~.**

Stifling a yawn Sybil walked toward the clinic's doors. She had spent a great part of her afternoon trying to clean a gangrenous wound. To say it had been an unpleasant day was to put it extremely mildly. As she reached for the door she heard a voice inquiring, "I do hope you are being cautious in your dealings with John Gutherie."

"I am being entirely professional."

He considered this saying, "I see."

Sensing he had more to say Sybil stepped closer wanting to close any distance between them. "Dr. Garrett," Sybil began determinedly. "Is there something you wish to say?"

He straightened stating, "Excuse me."

Perhaps she has gone a step to far, still Sybil had always hated pretense and prologues. "You seem to be cautioning me or perhaps testing me."

"I don't think…that…" He stumbled seeming to be searching for the right word.

"You assigned me to oversee his care." She reminded him. "If you do not wish me to care for him then advise me and I will cease to do so. But if you wish to have me do so…"

He watched her for a moment his gaze oddly intense. "I have no wish to alter his care."

"Then can you trust me to oversee matters."

"It is not that I lack confidence in his care." He said firmly. "It is only I recognize the risks of caring for Guthrie."

"Then you must give me time to understand those risks."

Again he seemed to study her intently before saying, "I suppose I must." Taking a step forward he opened the door holding it for her saying only, "Good evening Sybil."

Stepping into the darkness Sybil wondered if she had scored a victory or suffered a defeat.

**.~.~.~.~.**

Meals, Patrick realized, were now a thing to be endured. Marriage was a long business or so Violet avowed, but only now did Patrick realize the sheer length of the thing. Days seemed endless and turned to nights which seemed eternal. Not since his early days of agony in the hospital had days seemed ever so long. Likewise, alcohol is no longer just a thing he drinks; it is a means of sustaining himself. He drinks more and more and it never seems enough. Having already consumed three cognacs he feels the alcohol beginning to traverse into his bloodstream. His tongue growing thick and his mind sluggish. Edith said little, yet even that seemed much too much. Tugging at his necktie, he tried to loosen it finding the room as stifling as the company.

Edith looked up asking, "Is everything alright?"

"I think I shall go out," He responded placing his glass down on the table with such speed a few drops spilled out onto the cloth, making him feel a clumsy oaf. "Get a spot of air." He sways a little as he stands, little enough for anyone else to notice, too much for her to miss. He sees the recognition in her eyes, feels like a sudden scar blistering his skin."I shall meet you in the room later. Do not wait up."

She nods and forces a smile pretending he has asked a question rather than issuing a command. "Of course… Enjoy…your walk." He turns barely hearing much less understanding her words, turning and swaying as he walks out of the room.

**.~.~.~.~.**

Upon returning home Mary had gone upstairs to do whatever she did upstairs. Matthew found himself grateful for the solitude. The rain made him feel every scar on his torso had been ripped violently open. His back felt swollen and feverish with pain. He hated the rain. He hated more that his injuries had rendered him near elderly by his early 30's. He supposed it was lucky he would not see his 60's, he'd likely be sipping porridge while totally bedridden pitifully begging for pills or some tonic to finish himself off. Mary's company and the work itself had provided a distraction during the afternoon, but now that was over. Now there was no distraction and only searing pain. At this moment he wanted nothing more than to lie atop the covers and rub salve into every scar. However, Florence Nightingale Crawley was keeping far to close an eye on him for that. She had scarcely left his side since they returned home. Not that that bothered him, even as he wished it would. So much would be easier if… He forced the thought aside. It didn't do to become morbid when Mary was about, she saw through him all too well. And if she saw he was in pain that would begin another even less desired conversation. So hearing her entering he forced a smile, hoping she would not detect the strain in his features.

"Why are you over there?" She questioned noticing he had parked himself in the darkened corner. Without waiting for a response she walked behind his chair, pushing him closer to the fire. "That's better." She pronounced and oddly it was. "Dinner will be a few minutes."

He nodded asking, "Are we dressing?" The idea of being jostled about seemed horrendous.

"Not tonight." She responded agreeably. The new custom seemed to be shifting toward a simpler style for family dinners. Matthew relished the change, and thought it did not bother Mary quite as he might have expected.

Turning his head to smile up at her, Matthew observed she had changed into a dark green dress. "You look nice," He complimented feeling his face go flush. "I meant your dress…"

Mary regarded him for a moment before reaching over and gently patting her dress. "Thank you, darling."

"You always look so lovely," He noted looking down at his knees. "I don't know why I don't mention it."

Mary dipped her head as if excusing his conduct. As she did he heard Edwards open the door, and hushed conversation in the hall.

For his part, Matthew felt grateful for the distraction it ended his bumbling. Both he and Mary turned expectantly and in moments Sybil appeared.

"Good Evening darling," Mary called glancing over at her sister.

"Evening," Sybil replied taking in the warmth of the room and their presence.

"Dinner is in a few minutes."

"I think I'll just have a tray in my room." Sybil said taking a step backwards into the hall as if uninterested in tarrying in their presence.

"Darling," Mary questioned concern resonating in her tone.

"I am just awfully tired; I think some rest will help." She answered retreating from the room and venturing further into the dark hallway.

"Is she alright?" Matthew asked addressing his wife, though Sybil could hear his words.

"I am certain she is." Mary agreed passively before questioning distractedly. "What record would you like to listen to tonight?"

"Perhaps that Violin concerto your father sent."

"Vivaldi." Mary purred pleasure resonating in her words. "Perfect."

Satisfied they would not disturb her further, Sybil retreated up the darkened staircase.

**.~.~.~.~.**

The bedroom of the bridal suite in their hotel was curiously small. Edith had not minded that hoping physical proximity would lead to emotional propinquity. Alas the snugness of the room did nothing to bridge the gap that existed between she and her bridegroom. Edith knew, of course she knew, that she was doing something wrong, but she could quite figure out what she had done or not done. She laid awake hours after Patrick left her each night trying to identify her misdeed. She altered her behavior and dress. Nothing seemed to work. And night after night she was left alone sobbing into her pillow while her husband slept in the suit's sitting room. Tonight was worse still, Patrick had not even loved her before leaving her for the evening. Sitting at her dressing table Edith stared at her reflection feeling emptier than she could have imagined. Her heart ached with disappointment; she had at last secured the thing she had most wanted only to find herself utterly unwanted. Of all the disappointments in a life littered with them this was by far the cruelest. Sitting at her dressing table she stared at her reflection. Her hair was tied in a neat braid; she had realized her husband took no particularly heed of her hairstyle. Her nightdress was utilitarian. She had packed the delicate negligees she had purchased away some days before, feeling no need to act the seductress when the bridegroom acted so unseduced. Violet always proclaimed marriage a long business yet the words had never seemed so dire.

Laying aside her brush she watched Anna's reflection enter the room. "I'm sorry milady," Anna apologized softly. "The porter could not locate Mr. Crawley."

Nodding as if unsurprised by the news Edith answered, "I see. Well I'm sure he only stepped out for a breath of air."

"I am sure that is true milady."

Edith nodded again before inquiring, "Did you send the telegram I requested?"

Anna nodded answering, "Yes Milady."

"Thank you Anna," Edith replied turning to face Anna before returning her entire attention to her reflection.

"Would you like me to sit with you until Mr. Crawley returns?"

Edith shook her head offering, "Thank you but you can retire. I will see to myself until Mr. Crawley returns."

"Are you certain milady? I truly do not mind."

"No," Edith replied firmly forcing a faux smile. "You go ahead and retire."

"Yes milady, "Anna said retreating from the room casting nary a glance back leaving Edith peering at herself in the glass as If anticipating an answer to a question she could not quite pose.

**.~.~.~.~.**

The taxi driver did not balk at his drunkenness nor question the location. As soon as the driver made certain Patrick had the necessary currency he simply drove. Cousin Violet said the only virtue of the Italians was that they endlessly deferred to the British. Even in his inebriation Patrick was beginning to see the value of that tendency. The driver dropped him at the Baths. He did not ask if he should wait, perhaps even Italian deference did not go quite so far as that. Patrick handed him some bills, probably to many before staggering off toward the site. Owing to the fact the driver had dropped him a good piece from the baths Patrick found himself stumbling in the dark. Luckily the moon hung low in the sky, which lit his way and as he drew closer it illuminated the baths in an odd eerie gray glow. Pulling a bottle of Scotch out of his pocket, he twisted open the cap letting it fall in the grass. Stumbling on toward the ruins he half fumbled into what had once been the entrance. "Good day my Romans!" He called lifting his bottle aloft. "Salvom lavisse!" His voice reverberated in the empty air, and he half expected someone to call back. Taking another long gulp to complete the toast, Patrick felt the liquid traveling down his throat, burning and warming his insides at the same time. "Salvom lavisse!" Entering the tepidarium he thought the colors more vibrant than they had been mere hours beforehand, as if the alcohol had made him more aware of his surroundings. And the smell seemed different too though he could not quite place the aroma. Salty almost he decided thinking that odd. Walking into the caldarium the colors seemed only to heighten. The patterns in the tile seemingly suddenly fresh and vibrant… Yet glancing up, he realized that even as the colors seemed to be growing fresher, the ceilings seem to be lowering. And as he turned he entered a hall with a large F. He knew vaguely that did not fit, but he could not quite piece together how it did not fit. He felt an odd sense of something that was at once familiar, and yet not entirely right. Even as the alcohol numbed his brain, and slowed his thoughts he knew something was different. This was not quite the ruins he had toured mere hours before. Hurrying down the hall he opened a door and stepped into a vividly decorated room. The decorations were different, perhaps they had restored a room… but he realized the furnishings did not seem overtly Roman. Edith had a book full of pictures of Roman buildings and houses and these furnishings did not match those illustrations. Certainly the glasswork was not period appropriate. It looked far too recent. The green and blue tiles seemed far more modern than the ones in the other rooms. And the dark teak wood were utterly wrong, that wood belonged in England not Italy. Likewise, the handful of Damascus tables situated about the room felt more Middle Eastern than Italian. All of that might be excused due to lapses in period detail. Something however just felt off and it struck him all at once…lights. Three lighting fixtures in a row…"Electric lights." He said feeling a dawning confusion. Walking through the room he looked at the chairs and tables feeling an odd familiarity, he could neither categorize nor dismiss. Glancing down he saw a call button on the wall, and unthinkingly almost against his own violation he pushed it. Withdrawing his hand he stood almost shaking with anticipation, as if expecting a shock or bullet. For several moments nothing happened. He stood alone waiting and waiting. At length when nothing happened he released a breath feeling an overwhelming sense of relief, almost amused by his anxieties. Then the door opened and a suited young man not more than 19 came in asking, "May I help you Sir?"

Patrick spun around demanding, "Who are you?"

"Did you reserve a ticket for the facilities?" The man asked placidly in response. "The baths require a ticket. May I see yours Sir?"

"For the baths." Patrick repeated dumbly.

"The Turkish bath." The man said flatly. "Your ticket Sir?"

"I didn't…" Patrick felt the alcohol muddling his brain; his thoughts seemed encased in threads of cobwebs from which he was powerless to escape. "It is so late I assumed…" Surely the tours were closed for the day, and the milky white complexion of the boy did not seem remotely Italian. "Turkish bath?" He said finding meaning in the words. "Romans didn't have Turkish baths."

"I wouldn't know Sir."

"Shouldn't you?"

The attendant's brow crinkled as he questioned, "And why is that Sir?"

"You're an attendant at a Roman bath?" Patrick stated feeling his statement turning into a question, as certainty melted into doubt.

"Turkish bath." The man corrected pointedly but not with any discourtesy.

Turkish bath, the word reverberated in Patrick's mind almost like a memory as he asked needfully, "Where am I?"

"You are on the R.M.S. Titanic." His tone so matter of fact, so routine.

"No, no," Patrick insisted feeling his nervousness increasing almost by the moment. "I got off that ship."

The steward looked at him with an unblinking expression. "Did you now Sir?" He studied Patrick for only a moment before saying, "Well I suppose we kept a spot for you."

"No, no, no!" Patrick exclaimed feeling fear coursing through his bloodstream like some vile pox. In that instant, the alcohol had drained away, leaving him suddenly stone cold sober and utterly afraid. Turning he sought to escape in a half-running, half stumbling gait. Forcing his legs forward he saw a stairwell, he hurried to it taking the steps two at a time, even while half turning to see if the man pursued him. Despite seeing nothing he continued to pump his legs forward. At length he emerged on to an upper deck. The chill of the air assaulted him causing him to shiver even as his forehead began to sheen with sweat. Stepping on to the teakwood deck he began running even as he knew not from what he ran. He only knew that not to run, to stand still would be a fearful thing. Seeing the railing he climbed it casting one last look for his pursuer and seeing nothing. Still without a thought he flung himself over the railing hoping the sea would cushion his fall. The world instead went black as he lost consciousness. He woke to a stinging pain in his cheeks and right arm, and a torch beam shining down on his face.

**.~.~.~.~.**


	23. Chapter 23

Let me say I am not entirely pleased with this chapter. I would not call it filler but its about setting up things that will play out. So the Garrett and John sections are necessary. It also answers why Matthew selected Thomas for his valet. The ending is a huge moment.

Someone asked for a hint where the story is going… I will say this Matthew, Sybil and Patrick are the trio whose experiences will drive the fallout coming in following chapters. Mary will also undergo significant changes as she grapples with her mother and trying to find her place in life. I'll also say some of the repetition like the Titanic scenes is not accidental. Everything will circle backwards as we hurtle toward the last fourth of the story.

.~.~.~.~.

"Shipwreck, amnesia, war wounds and now collapsing inside a Roman ruin." Garrett observed carefully extracting a piece of stone that had embedded in Patrick's scars. He let the sliver of stone drop into the dish relishing sharp pinging noise. "You seem to have experienced quite a few colorful experiences Mr. Crawley."

"Quite." Patrick agreed tersely trying with little success to ignore the pain coursing through his face.

"You are remarkably lucky no infection seems to have set in from the gravel."

"My cousin did a wonderful job nursing me."

Garrett nodded dabbing some antiseptic across Patrick's wound. Turning away from the man's obvious pain he handed the dish containing the gravel he'd removed to the nurse. "Have you and Nurse Crawley always been close?"

"Lady Sybil." Patrick said firmly. "I am told we were."

"And you have married her sister." He nodded causing Garrett to say, "And your brother-in-law is a paralyzed solicitor. Quite unusual for an aristocratic family, I imagine."

Patrick shrugged still feeling the rippling effects of the pain. "I suppose."

"Miss… Lady Sybil has the makings of a fine doctor."

Patrick smiled easily stating, "I can certainly attest to that."

"Lifting Patrick's chart Garrett said, "I would like to keep you here for an additional day or so." He said making a note on the chart. "I believe we have removed all the gravel but I would like to ensure no infection develops."

Patrick nodded saying thankfully, "I do appreciate your assistance in my care."

"I'll have the nurse bring a draught around to ease the pain." Garrett stated closing the chart and returning it to the hook on the end of the bed before stepping out of the room. Patrick watched the door close before closing his own eyes against the stinging pain in his cheek.

.~.~.~.~.

"You brought my suit?" Matthew asked as Thomas lifted his leg. Counting silently to ten Thomas lowered his leg before lifting it again. Sybil had demonstrated the exercises that had to be performed daily. Thus if she needed to be elsewhere Matthew would not miss his daily rehabilitation. Since Patrick's abrupt arrival a few days before, Thomas had been handling Matthew's exercises. However, completing the exercises without Mary's knowledge required a certain subterfuge that was particularly difficult with Mary, Edith, and Patrick in the house. Thus, Matthew had surprised him this morning by suggesting they do the exercises at a different location.

For her part, Lady Rosmund Painswick loved subterfuge and surprised, seeming utterly nonplused when Matthew arrived and requesting use of a bedroom. Quite the opposite she turned asking the butler, "Please assist Mr. Barrow in escorting Mr. Crawley upstairs. Ivy," She said calling the maid who was busy in the morning room, "Will you have some tea sent up to the guest room."

Once they had settled Matthew on the bed, Thomas removed his coat and shirt. They then set out enacting the exercises. Truthfully, Thomas did most of the work though the exercises pained Matthew, not as severely as the first week but still…

"Yes sir your brown one." Thomas said shifting his position so he could bend Matthew's knee.

"Matthew?" Rosamund's voice called questioning, clearly she was seeking permission to enter.

Matthew glanced down, "I am in my under shirt."

"Oh bother I was a married woman for a quarter of a century." Rosamund dismissed entering the room glancing about her interestedly. Watching Thomas turning Matthew over and proceeding to bend his leg she asked, "Not that I am not very modern but…"

"Exercises," Matthew gasped biting back against the pain in his lower back. "Sybil's idea."

"I see." She replied in a knowing tone.

"They are meant to maintain the muscle tone in my legs and backs." Matthew said acknowledging, "I think it's unlikely."

"Then why do it?"

"I have no idea." Matthew admitted sounding befuddled by his own actions. "Sybil has a way of convincing one to do things."

Rosamund nodded smiling proudly. "She gets that from our side of the family."

.~.~.~.~.

"You rang milady," Edwards intoned strolling into the library.

"I have a guest arriving very shortly. Could you arrange tea and perhaps some scones."

He nodded saying, "Of course milady."

"My husband left some time ago correct."

Edwards nodded, "He and Mr. Barrow left a quarter of an hour ago."

"His usual Saturday shave and barber." Mary agreed distractedly her mind seemingly already engaged elsewhere before saying pleasantly, "That will provide me more than enough time."

.~.~.~.~.

Watching Rosamund walk out Thomas lifted the bag containing Matthew's luncheon suit and said, "I will give this a quick press." He said walking toward the door, then almost as an afterthought he stopped. "Mr. Crawley," He said turning back toward his employer. "I have not thanked you for bringing me on." There was a gruff sound to his words; gratitude had never come naturally to Thomas.

"No thanks necessary." Matthew replied flatly.

"I just supposed you might have preferred Mr. Mosely."

"Good god no," Matthew said shaking his head at the thought. "I could hardly bear that."

"Why me then Sir, if I may ask?"

"With my work I may require some tasks outside the typical definition of valet." Seeing Thomas' interest was keenly engaged he continued, "You strike me as a man with a certain intelligence, and from your experience in the trenches I assume you can keep your wits about you." Seeing Thomas' gaze drift down to his hand Matthew said evenly, "I think you might be suited to some tasks I find necessary. But," He said meeting his eyes, "I suppose I shall have to see if I trust you."

Thomas nodded and walked toward the door, in the doorway he turned promising, "You will."

.~.~.~.~.

Descending the stairs, an hour later, Edith heard Mary exiting the morning room. By instinct she stood back waiting expectantly for whatever was to come. Having a sister like Mary necessitated; near constant campaigns of eavesdropping as a form of intelligence gathering.

"I do appreciate your assistance Sir Peter." Mary said coming into the foyer.

"Nonsense Lady Mary I am always eager to assist you and Matthew in any way fashion."

"I am so very grateful," Mary said as they stood in the hall. "You will contact me when the transaction is complete."

"Naturally," He agreed taking his hat and coat from Henderson. "Now I have a luncheon appointment so I bid you a good day."

"Good day," Mary agreed watching he and Henderson walk toward the door.

Taking that as her cue to enter; Edith descended the stairs stopping on the bottom step. "Who was that?" Edith asked curiously.

"Matthew's employer." Mary answered with deliberate vagueness. "It's nothing really." She said rather unnecessary as Edith had not bothered about the guest at all.

"Are you busy this afternoon?" Edith said coyly.

"I am always busy." Mary snapped peevishly. "I hardly lounge about the house feasting on chocolates."

Resisting the urge to roll her eyes Edith said, "Could you rearrange your plans? I need a favor." There was little use being coy about the favor she had decided.

Mary scowled asking, "What sort of favor?"

"I need you to run an errand with me." She said adding, "And before you say you cannot, Thomas telephoned and said Matthew has a luncheon engagement."

"What?" Mary replied her features shifting into a displeased expression.

"It is shocking that you cannot keep pace with a man in a wheelchair," Edith granted frankly. Then realizing Mary might not take to such a statement, she fixed her sister with a beseeching look pleading, "It is important."

"Oh very well." Mary granted sighing loudly.

.~.~.~.~.

Tossing back a scotch, Sir Richard Carlisle waited impatiently for his luncheon guests to arrive. He disliked charity and social gatherings but recognized feigning interest in such things was necessary to maintain a certain presence in society. His overture toward Sir Peter was in the nature of things he did for society rather than charity. Hearing Robespierre intone, "Sir Peter and Lady Sarah Simon," he rose preparing himself for the boredom of such gatherings.

Richard crossed the room extending his hand, "How very good of you both to come."

"Thank you." Sir Peter said.

Sarah smiled saying, "I do hope we will not burden you."

Richard smiled before replying, "I cannot imagine how you could ever burden anyone."

"We have brought guests." She confessed in a slightly shameful tone.

"Oh." Richard said. He hated surprises and being caught unaware. Still, he feigned calmness. "Do have them come in and join us."

"Lady Rosamund Painswick," Robespierre intoned sounding slightly grave, "And Mr. Crawley."

Taking his hand Rosamund spoke first saying, "I hope you do not object to us dropping in unexpectedly."

"Of course not," Richard said with an exaggerated cheerfulness. "The more the merrier."

Matthew smiled agreeing effusively. "I quite agree."

"Yes." Richard agreed his lip curling slightly as his voice grew tighter. He felt a sudden urge for red very rare meat.

.~.~.~.~.

"Hello John." Garrett said entering the patient's room.

"Well if it is not the great healer." John Guthrie greeted looking up from his book with barely disguised interest.

"How are you this morning?"

Putting his book aside John queried, "I thought Lady Sybil was taking care of me."

"She is." Garrett said wandering over to the chair in the corner. "May I have a seat?"

"No."

Garrett shook his head taking a seat. "How are you feeling?"

"Marvelous. I may try out for the chorus of a Gilbert and Sullivan production."

"Your father made a telephone call." Garrett said scanning the chart. "He would like to visit."

"Absolutely not."

"He is paying for your care."

"The fact he's paying you is reason enough for me to never speak to the man again."

"Your anger against me is very odd."

"I am sure you find it odd." John answered lifting his book and continuing to read. Despite Garrett's continued questioning he did not speak another word. After a time Garrett sighed angrily and rose leaving the room and slamming the door.

.~.~.~.~.

After escorting Lady Rosamund into the dining room on one arm, Richard turned seeing Sir Peter and Lady Sarah following and Matthew rolling after them. Once they were seated, Richard sat back announcing brusquely, "I am certain you wonder why I have asked me to lunch?"

"Indeed," Peter agreed momentarily taken aback by Carlisle's brashness. "And of course due to your past association with Lord Grantham and his family, I asked Mr. Crawley to join us."

Richard's jaw shifted slightly before he forced a smile saying, "I see."

"And I came along because I sensed you would enjoy my presence as well," Rosamund offered giggling gently with a coy smile.

"But of course." Richard agreed returning her smile, his tone softening ever so slightly.

"Well," Lady Sarah said lifting her wine glass. "Now that we know why we are here, Sir Richard I am very curious about your intentions."

He nodded taking a sip of his Scotch before answering her question. "You are of course aware I own a number of newspapers and other publications."

"Of course," Sir Peter concurred running the pad of his fingers over the tablecloth.

"My reporters keep me well abreast of all relevant developments involving charity work."

"Really," Matthew said arching his brow slightly. "I thought a man of your many interests would have little interest in charity."

Richard glanced down and then looked up meeting Matthew's gaze. "You might be surprised at the depth of my interest, Mr. Crawley."

"Indeed I suspect your interests might quite possibly amaze me." Matthew agreed politely.

Turning to face Lady Sarah, Richard said, "It is my understanding you are focusing your efforts in aid of war orphans."

"I am."

"A very worthy causes," Richard granted as the footman arrived with their dishes. Once the waiter had departed Richard took a bite of his mutton before announcing, "I was considering utilizing my newspapers to publicize your war orphan campaign."

"How charitable of you." Matthew said spearing his meat with his knife.

"Yes," Richard agreed easily. "I do believe one should use one's influence to effect positive change in society."

"Indeed," Sir Peter agreed.

As if not aware he had been interrupted, Richard continued saying, "After all some of us were spared injury and pain and as such should aid those in need."

"It is truly munificent of you to be so very concerned about society's ills." Matthew granted with thinly described sarcasm.

"One must do one's part." He replied scowling slightly at Crawley.

"And you are of course aware of my wife's involvement."

"Lady Mary is involved?"

"Yes." Matthew snapped irritably.

Rosamund wanting to paper over any issues quickly interjected, "Our family feels strongly about charity."

"Really," Sir Richard drawled saying, "I thought the Crawleys only cared for horse riding, throwing parties and playing the part of entitled aristocrats."

The silence around the table became oppressive but Rosamund recovered quickly retorting, "That only shows you did not spend suitable time with our family to truly understand our motives."

"Perhaps," Richard said reaching for his Scotch.

.~.~.~.~.

"The car will be here in a few moments." Mary announced returning to the morning room where Edith sat clutching her bag, looking nervous and so terribly, terribly tired.

"You told him the address."

Mary nodded, "Yes."

This time Edith nodded saying hesitantly before observing, "Your very good at this…. Living in the city, calling cars, marriage… You just seem to always adapt."

"I suppose." Mary said reservedly. She was never entirely certain how to take Edith and always tended to assume the worst.

"I mean it," Edith stated as if feeling a need to emphasize her point. "I did." She repeated more quickly. "Papa always said Mary falls on her feet. He is right. You do."

As always Mary found herself befuddled by the moments of grace that occurred between them. Studying the wallpaper with feigned rapt attention she acknowledged, "I know this must be difficult….the way things happened." She felt a frustrating inarticulateness, as if her mind could not produce the correct words to convey her feelings.

"What did they tell you?" Edith asked staring deliberately ahead, unwilling to meet her gaze.

"Not so much," Mary said choosing to be slightly less forthcoming, feeling a somewhat foreign desire to spare Edith pain.

"Enough to know my husband humiliated himself."

Mary glanced over surprised to see Edith looking at her. "It was an accident."

"Public intoxication," Edith pronounced the word distastefully. "I had to go to the police station; I forget what they call it in Italy."

"You don't have to speak of it," Mary said uncomfortable with the turn in the conversation.

Edith seemed not to hear her words continuing, "He had been in a cell, and he was sick on himself, the stench." Her nose crinkled in dismay. "I had no idea….Papa never… I suppose I sound terribly naive." Mary thought she did but decided not to speak of it. "Things have not been so easy between Patrick and me." She confessed softly. "I thought once we were settled, properly married things would get better…like you and Matthew. I thought it would be easier. We would have crossed that bride and could focus on just building a life."

"I see." Mary's words were vague. She had never considered she and Matthew to have an easy relationship. However, their stunted communication attempts were little beside public intoxication and badly feigned emptiness.

"It is just so hard. Loving someone, marrying, trying to find the life you expected to fall into place. Sometimes," She confided, "I feel so terribly alone, my chest aches with loneliness.." A single tear began to roll down her cheek.

"Well," Mary said uncomfortably unsure just what one should say at such times. She had always loathed comforting anyone, Matthew had proved an exception but thus far the sole one. She studied her sister as if searching for some clue of what she should do, alas none came. At length she rose saying, "I will allow you a moment to compose herself." She quickly walked out closing the door.

.~.~.~.~.

Tossing his head back Patrick laughed ignoring the pain it caused, "I would love to have seen his face."

"I do believe Sir Richard was a bit surprised at his luncheon guests." Matthew conceded slightly abashed to realize how much he enjoyed getting one over on Carlisle.

"He is an ass." Patrick dismissed lightly.

"Perhaps I only hope I haven't prodded a sleeping tiger." He said worriedly. Mary's nagging concerns about Sir Richard reared up, troubling Matthew more than he cared admit. During the luncheon it had been too easy to tease him, now though Matthew wondered if that had been the best decision.

Patrick as if sensing his mood said, "Don't worry I will stand by should you need help."

Matthew turned facing him with a befuddled expression, "I fear at present you are a bit of a paper tiger."

Patrick nodded seeing the truth in his words. "Garrett says I'm to be released in a few days."

"That is good news." Matthew said smiling his mood seemingly improving.

"Of course I hope you and Mary can endure my presence for a few more weeks. The good doctor wants to keep an eye on my healing."

"Of course," Matthew acquiesced smiling. "It is your house, we are the ones that must be endured."

"Yet the pair of you seem more at home here and at Downton than I ever shall."

Unsure how to respond to the statement Matthew kept his own counsel stating instead, "Never the less I will enjoy you and Edith's company."

Patrick leaned back against his pillow saying, "You always sound so much like Robert. Diplomatic, poised. I wonder if I ever managed that trait." Closing his eyes he said, "Does he know what happened?" So much of the early days had been a haze of pain and utter, utter shame. His wife forced to endure the embarrassment of coming to find him. Sybil having to remove shards of glass from his face and dosing him with morphine to ease the burning in his face…. There had been little to no time to question events beyond the immediacy of his pain. He had trusted Matthew to see to his legal issues with a certain discretion. Now that his sphere was expanding beyond the entirety of his physical pain, he had begun to question the ramifications of his…accident.

"I believe," Matthew replied attempting to marshal some diplomacy, "He knows a version of what happened."

"A shaded version I trust."

"Quite." Matthew agreed evenly. "Or so he pretends."

Sighing Patrick said, "I do feel badly about things. It certainly was not my idea to bring shame on the family."

Again Matthew felt a reply unwise. His natural tendency to insert his foot directly into his mouth was being tempered slightly by the training he was receiving in the courtroom. He was learning, he felt somewhat late, the value of not sharing some thoughts. Still he did admit, "I think it is your wife you should concern yourself with."

"I have embarrassed her." Matthew did not dignify such a blatantly stupid statement with a response instead sitting expectantly for whatever came next. "That was never my intention." Patrick sat quietly for a moment before adding, "I am sure it sounds stupid my saying such things."

"Your bride had to fetch you from a jail on a charge of public drunkenness." Matthew snapped fiercely. Mollifying his tone very slightly he added, "Your intent means little."

Patrick's face reddened, his entire body tensing. Yet as soon as the emotion appeared, it disappeared. He sunk back against the bed sighing loudly, "You are right, of course you are. I don't… I just don't know….anything."

"Do you have no feelings for her?"

"It would be easier if I did not." He confessed adding thoughtfully,"You know Shrimpy told me once there is a language to love and like French and billiards if you don't learn it early enough you will never master it." A long silence followed and neither man sought to break it, each lost in his own silent contemplations.

.~.~.~.~.

The decorations in Dr. Baker's office were overwhelmingly male. The paneling dark, the walls plain white, the shelves were stuffed with books. The office remained wholly devoid of any feminine touches, an exclusively male domain. Given his conduct the night of Matthew's illness Mary found such decorations unsurprising. She shuddered to imagine what his examination might have entailed. She had sat in the waiting area reading a ghastly magazine waiting uncertainly. Edith had fetched her only moments before beseeching, "Sit with me."

So here they sat side by side waiting. Edith had been curiously mum saying only that she wished to see a doctor. Mary had her suspicions why a newlywed might wish to see a doctor but she had remained doggedly silent unwilling to press or question. Therefore, she and Edith sat silently waiting hearing the tick tock of the grandmother clock on the opposite wall.

"Good evening Lady Edith," Baker said hurrying into the room. Glancing at Mary, with the slightest of scowls he added, "And you as well Lady Mary."

"Dr. Baker." Mary answered dipping her head only slightly.

"I hope your husband is much recovered from his distress."

Frowning at his words Mary said only, "He is well thank you."

"Good." He grunted nodding. "Now," He said lowering himself into the chair, "I will not prolong your anxiety my dear." His words caused Mary to glance up quickly, concerned at the implications, wondering whatever might cause Edith anxiety. His visage however suggested no distress as he announced happily, "Congratulations Lady Edith you are with child."

.~.~.~.~..


	24. Chapter 24

Replies are much cherished and fed nice scones and cocoa.

**.~.~.~.~.**

Buttoning his tunic Michael York could not forget that a mere two years before he had been storming across the Somme. Truthfully, he did not want to forget. He had spent three and a half years happy amidst the band of brothers that formed his unit. He'd seen bits and pieces of France, Germany and Italy suffering nary a scratch. Lucky everyone had said. He'd been demobbed, sent back to a cramped flat, a wife he barely knew, and a pair of bairns scrambling about and ensuring he never got a moment's rest. Having become accustomed the sounds of men snoring, coughing, turning over and sometimes groaning in the night….The silence of his too quiet bedroom kept him wakeful and ill at ease. He'd passed through the early supposedly happiest days in a fog of discomfort, feeling only awkwardness and unease. Within days he had exchanged his military uniform for his old constable's kit and begun the process of relearning a different life. And indeed he found it a different type of life, better in some ways, worse in others but in all ways different. The only real continuity in the two existences occurred in the late hours. During the war he had discovered he had an affinity for the darkness. Amidst the patrols, the night raids, he had learned he belonged among the creatures of the night. He found in those nocturnal times a freedom that went beyond all fear. When he'd returned he'd requested night duty. Returning to the darkness as if re-indulging in the embrace of a much yearned for lover. He felt better, more alive in the open air, eyeing the silhouettes always on the watch for the next danger. Casting a final glance in the mirror and finding his uniform straight, and each button appropriately shiny, he reached for his night stick. Walking toward the door, he instinctively drew a deep breath preparing himself for what was to come. Walking out of the flat he spared no final words for his wife or the bairns, simply walking stiffly and straight keeping his eyes elevated as if trying to see over a trench.

**.~.~.~.~.**

Logically Edith knew that she was seated beside Mary in the car. Emotionally she felt she was floating through the air, buoyed by pure happiness. "We must tell Patrick!" She exclaimed the moment the doctor told them the happiest of news. Mary had maneuvered them out of the office and into the car. Edith could not bother with such details…not when unvarnished happiness stood beckoning her. A child, an heir… A future that promised nothing but happiness... A child would settle things. She and Patrick would grow closer; the babe would bind their lives together. Oh it was too happy to even contemplate. The future which only yesterday seemed a fearful thing now seemed to be paved with rainbows and sunshine. Turning to her sister Edith confessed only a touch shyly, "Mary I am just so happy."

Mary nodded smiling as she assented, "Of course."

"You are happy aren't you?" Edith asked hopefully.

Turning to face her Mary forced a more sincere smile stating, "Of course I am."

"Oh I know Patrick and I have problems, and I know we still have a great deal to work out. Only don't you think…won't this make things easier?"

"I am certain it will." Seemingly feeling she ought to offer a bit more Mary added, "It's only that I'm a bit jealous."

"Oh," Edith apologized peering down at her brown shoes. "I am sorry I didn't think… And here I am going on and on. I am sorry it's only…"

"It's perfectly alright." Mary offered reaching out and squeezing her sister's hand. "Matthew and I will certainly spoil him."

Edith's smile only grew as she said, "Oh I do think it will be a boy too."

"Naturally," Mary agreed evenly. "Downton needs an heir. And we shall all want to spoil him, of course."

"Oh we all shall I imagine." Edith agreed giggling in happiness. "Why only imagine Papa and Mama."

Mary smiled again mirroring her earlier words, "They will be very pleased naturally. As we all shall be."

"Yes and Patrick." Edith said softly, hopefully… "Oh he shall be so surprised and so very happy." And in spite of her hope her voice sounded the slightest bit doubtful.

Mary nodded saying, "I am sure he will be."

**.~.~.~.~.**

Patrick tried not to cringe as the bloody Scotsman approached him again with the tweezers and a shocking vile expression. "This won't hurt, well perhaps a wee bit." Dr. Garrett said amending his statement. There was nothing wee about the pain though. It galloped through Patrick's facial tissue, the pain so searing he swore the nerves were aflame. Hissing out a number of rather good curses he was surprised by Garrett's placid demeanor and cheeky, "Aha is that the best the English have? Me sister could go you one better when she was but a lass in hobnail boots."

"There is a thin line between toughness and sadism." Patrick swore the instant the tweezers were removed from his still protesting wounds.

"Aha but a Scotsman will forever fall uneasily on either side. Or so you British keep telling me."

"I'm more Canadian than British." Patrick admitted before adding, "It's been my home for the past few years."

"Eh," Garrett retorted dubiously. "I thought your home was an English estate in Yorkshire." He waited for Patrick to respond, but his patient was instead bracing for the next assault with the tweezers and kept silent.

**.~.~.~.~.**

The closer the car drew to the hospital the more Edith felt her euphoria being burst by a growing sense of introspection. Patrick would be thrilled. Of course he would. Any man would be thrilled by an heir. Only, she realized that they hadn't spoken of children. Heirs were expected. They had both been raised knowing that to marry and produce an heir was the duty of any Earl and Countess. Still, it was so soon and they really had not quite found their feet as a couple. But of course it was such joyous news...And she would so dearly love a boy with Patrick's eyes and his hair. And of course it would be a boy. Naturally Patrick would be thrilled. Of course he would be Edith told herself determinedly. He would be. Yet, as the car approached the curve she felt a lurching uncertainty, simultaneously feeling an odd relief Mary was by her side.

**.~.~.~.~.**

While awaiting Patrick's return, Matthew had rolled to the window watching the outside goings on with the keenest of interest. Seeing a Patrolman exit the park and turn walking down the street, Matthew experienced an odd sense of familiarity thinking of the days when Captain Crawley patrolled the trenches. Years when with ramrod posture and feigned confidence he had strolled about taking risks, instilling confidence, training recruits… Years when he had given nary a thought to the simple business of walking…. And then at Amiens Captain Crawley had been killed. Matthew Crawley remained alive well half alive, but the business of walking was no more. Solicitor Crawley had soon died too. All that remained, the little bit that was left was possibly Barrister Crawley and oddly enough Lady Mary Crawley's husband…maybe just for a time, just until she could find a real whole husband… Still he'd gotten the one thing he truly wanted even if just for a time. That was something, he supposed.

Seeing an approaching silhouette on the wall, Matthew instinctively turned. Remaining alive in the trench had become dependent on noticing silhouettes, hearing the slightest of sounds…that was all that kept one breathing some days. "The nurse is giving Mr. Crawley a sedative for the pain." The slight Scottish lilt instantly identified the speaker.

Matthew backed his chair a few inches providing himself the room to turn around. Maneuvering the chair had become an instinctive thing, the chair now almost an extension of himself. "I will remain until he gets settled for the evening."

Garrett nodded stating with complete nonchalance, "I am certain he will appreciate that…" A sudden hot pain traveled down Matthew's spine causing him to bend at the waist, thinking that might relieve some of the agony traversing his spine. Garrett leaned down offering, "May I be of some assistance?" His tone was collected, decisive, sounding solicitous rather than concerned.

"No….No." Matthew insisted coming back to himself as the pain receded even if but slightly. Reaching for his pocket handkerchief he mopped his forehead, still bent at the waist, fearing that to straighten would bring on a new assault. "I will soon be back to right."

"Have you seen someone about your back?" Again the tone…just so… Professional. A tone absent even an ounce of real concern.

Matthew grasped his back as if thinking it a means of easing the pain. He straightened very slowly, very, very slowly grimacing though truly his pain was slight. "Better." He admitted grudgingly. "No," He said as if lifting the thread of a forgotten conversation. "I have not seen a point really…"

"Do you not?" Garrett challenged doubtfully. "I believe the very opposite."

"A doctor would." Matthew snored derisively.

"Do you know many victims of your condition?" A question so coolly posed…

"Only the men I saw at Downton." His acknowledgement conveyed a certain wariness, he knew he was being drawn in to a discussion he wished only to conclude.

Garrett nodded before inquiring, "And did they seem much in pain?"

"I do not remember." His misery had occupied the majority of his experience, crowding out all other sensations. The men around him barely pierced the fog.

"It is unusual."

"I have heard of phantom pain." He replied feeling a dawning defensiveness. "Our local doctor warned me of such occurrences."

Garrett nodded rising to his full height. "Such things are not atypical. Certainly that may be what you are experiencing."

"You still believe I should seek an opinion."

Garrett nodded before admitting, "Perhaps it is merely the physician in me, scavenging for answers where none may exist."

"Then why?"

"Because what if there is one," Garrett challenged turning to walk toward the door. Reaching it he turned saying, "As a doctor I must believe even the incurable can at rare times be cured."

"And what if it cannot?"

"Then you would have to live with the disappointment." He considered this for a moment before acknowledging, "I suppose there are as many arguments for not exploring your symptoms as exploring them."

"But you would have me seek a second opinion."

He nodded saying, "I would. But after all that is a decision you must make." He said pushing the door open and walking out.

**.~.~.~.~.**

Stepping onto the curb Mary turned watching her sister mirror her actions saying, "Perhaps I should wait in the car." Mary suggested falling in beside her sister.

"I told you I would rather you accompany me." Edith reminded her tightening her hold on her handkerchief.

"This should be a private moment." Mary replied increasingly uncomfortable with the notion of intruding. "I'll only be in the way. "

"You won't." Edith contended firmly as she pulled open the clinic door and stepped inside. The odor assaulting her nose caused her to raise her gloved hand as if guarding her nose from its effects.

Mary strode past her sister stating, "Of course I will be… This should be a private moment between you and Patrick."

"I don't think it will be." Edith said adding, "Or rather I don't believe I am strong enough…."

Scowling Mary retorted, "Not strong enough….you do speak such gibberish…"

"Don't…"Edith demanded her fears finally flooding to the surface, submerging the mask of happiness she had momentarily experienced. "Mary," She said turning and facing her sister. "I know you dislike me…. I know you think I'm frumpy and unattractive and any man would be insane to care for me…"

"I…." Mary stammered fumbling for a correct response.

"You think all those things." Edith acknowledged decidedly. "And for twenty odd years I lived in the room next to yours where you thought such things." She looked up facing Mary with steely eyes. "And I know you think those things, and you know I know…but right now, in this moment I need you while thinking all those things to still be my sister."

"Sybil…" Mary suggested as if clutching at straws seeking an alternative, any alternative.

Edith looked away saying quietly. "When I was small…when it thundered, when I woke with a nightmare, whenever I was scared… I would come to your bed." She looked at her sister beseechingly asking, "Do you remember? The way I would creep into your bed…. The nanny finding us there in the morning. …You were…you were safe to me. Do you remember?"

Mary mulled over her sister's words finally asking only, "Tell me what you need?"

"I need my sister with me." Edith conceded softly. "I need to feel safe….that if anything doesn't go…"

"But you seemed…." Mary insisted exhibiting a certain confusion, trying to piece out her sister's meaning.

"I know how I seemed," Edith snapped her tone curt and dismissive. "I hope… I hope all is as it seemed… but if it isn't… if it is as I am fearing….I need you there."

A moment passed before Mary nodded her head promising, "Then I'll be there."

**.~.~.~.~.**

"How is the pain?" Matthew questioned thinking it odd to phrase rather than respond to the question.

"Bearable just," Patrick admitted though his grimace did little to support his claim. "The sedative is beginning to take effect."

"Aha," Matthew remembered a fond smile crossing his lips.

A knock caused both men to look up. Patrick turned facing the door calling, "Who is it?"

"Your wife," Edith answered, waiting until he invited her in… "Oh hello Matthew." She greeted adding, "And your wife as well."

"Mary?" The surprise was evident in his voice. His quick smile suggested it was a happy one.

Rather than respond she simply walked over to his side bending, and kissing his uplifted cheek. "Hello darling."

""What brings you here?" Matthew asked curiously.

"I brought her here." Edith replied proudly.

Mary smiled serenely at Matthew stating, "A fact that you are very glad of I presume."

Glancing up Matthew assented answering, "Naturally. Shall I have someone fetch you a chair?" He asked seeing only one available chair.

Mary smiled down at him saying affectionately, "No I am quite comfortable taking this bench." She said glancing at a bench near the wall. Seeing his bemused expression Mary dismissed his unspoken concerns vowing, "I am a good sailor."

During this exchange Edith took a chair opposite her husband's bed, clearly waiting to be asked the purpose of his visit. After a time Patrick sluggishly asked, "And what brings you here?"

"I have some news to share." Edith confessed smiling.

Patrick turned facing her asking, "What news?"

"Some very special news…" She answered mysteriously.

"Perhaps we should go." Matthew interjected kindly.

Edith stopped him saying, "No I would prefer you both stay. Besides," She confided shyly threading her handkerchief through her fingers, "Mary already knows my news."

Matthew felt a prickle of pain tearing down his spine, yet the pain barely touched him, so involved was he in trying to piece out what was going on around him. Edith seemed almost beatific with happiness. And given the circumstances he did find that extremely strange. Odder still, he had rarely seen Mary look more uncomfortable. But of course that told him precisely nothing. Edith always seemed a great deal happier around Patrick. And Mary was always deeply, deeply uncomfortable whenever emotions or feelings were liable to be discussed.

"Well then," Patrick said and Matthew thought he was trying for a game tone that he could not quite manage. "Do tell us."

"Oh," Edith said a light giggle escaping her and her smile expanding. "Patrick we are to have a child."

"A child." He repeated and his tone was a bit to bewildered, and his smile an instant too late to convey much happiness.

"A baby." Edith said her tone faltering slightly.

Forcing himself to speak Matthew smiled brightly stating, "Well isn't that such wonderful news. Mary and I will be an Uncle and Aunt. How very, very exciting…"

"Wonderful." Patrick echoed almost mechanically like a machine chugging into motion.

**.~.~.~.~.**

Matthew stared out at the traffic as the car hurried toward Grantham House. Edith had suggested they give she and Patrick some privacy stating that she would stay for a time. And so reluctantly yet with a measure of relief they had moved toward the car and the oasis of home. Neither had said much, both having their faces turned toward the window suddenly finding the traffic fascinating.

Reaching across the car Matthew took Mary's hand into his own squeezing it slightly saying, "I wish you would tell me what you are thinking."

Mary looked at him for a long moment marshaling her thoughts before answering, "I am thinking how very happy Mama and Papa will be."

"They will." Matthew agreed softly before adding, "And how are you feeling?"

"Excited obviously. " Marry supplied with the sunniest of smiles. "A baby is such a surprise. A son would certainly be tidy. But a girl would be lovely as well." Mary observed thoughtfully. "Papa is probably apoplectic at the notion of an heir."

"I suppose," He agreed lightly drawing his fingers over her knuckles.

There was a trace of melancholy in her voice as she added, "So long as it's a boy of course."

Matthew contemplated her silently before saying gently. "What are you feeling? Truly," He added as if feeling a need to reassure her of his true interest.

This time it she who squeezed their intertwined fingers. "I feel fine. Happy."

"Mary," He sighed releasing her hand. "You needn't lie to me. This cannot be easy. Denied your home, denied your place in the aristocracy now denied….this too."

Reaching and retaking his hand Mary squeezed it admitting,"I cannot even be bothered anymore." Mary stated flatly. "One cannot change that much in a single lifetime."

"You deserve…"

"Matthew," She said sounding suddenly tired and oddly defeated. "If one is to discuss what we deserve I am afraid the things you deserve far, far outstrip mine."

Taken aback by her words he withdrew for a moment before saying, "I try not to think about that."

"Then we are in a similar mindset." She observed in a slightly arch tone. "Let us only focus on accepting things as they are…and as such only contemplate our soon to be nephew."

A slight smile tugged at the corners of Matthew's lips. "You think it will be a boy."

"All men want an heir. I'm certain Austen wrote a novel with that theme."

Matthew smiled amused as always by her Austen disdain. "Some men would be perfectly content with simply a healthy child." He said before adding pointedly. "For my part I wanted a daughter." He admitted ruefully the odd exchange from a week ago still rattling around his mind having brought to light a fantasy he'd spent months trying to murder. How often had he dreamed of that brown haired girl with ice blue eyes? A daughter who looked a bit like the pair of them but who would of course be her own person.

"Did you really?" Mary asked sounding terribly pleased at the thought. "You are so very usual." She said reaching up and distractedly rubbing the side of his cheek with the back of her hand which she did not cease until they reached Grantham House. And Matthew for all his talk of keeping separate could only lean into her touch resisting the urge to purr like an overly pleased house cat.

**.~.~.~.~.**

"You are happy?" Edith questioned staring out the window avoiding her husband's gaze.

"Of course." He said focusing his attention on the white wall before him. "How could I not be happy?"

"I think a baby could be good for us, for Downton…Papa." She was cataloging reasons offering one then the next, like a lover overly enamored of their paramour's charms.

"A child will be wonderful." He agreed flatly.

"I know it's soon."

"It's not too soon." Patrick disputed blandly. "Your parents will be ecstatic."

"They will." She agreed weakly.

"Matthew and Sybil will be wonderful with the baby."

Edith smiled assenting, "They will and Mary…."

"Mary will be Mary."

"I am sure she will ensure our baby has very chic baby clothes." Edith said gamely.

"And she will never hold the baby."

"Of course not," Edith said almost giggling. "Can you imagine Mary with a child?"

"Hardly," Patrick scoffed though honestly he'd never given the idea much thought.

"But," Edith said softly. "I suppose if Mary was having a baby it would be different."

"I suppose." He acquiesced uncertain precisely what she meant. Edith talked a great deal but frequently he had not the slightest clue what she meant. She lacked Mary's wit or Sybil's passions and as such her words passed through his mind like water through a sieve.

As if sensing his confusion Edith explained, "If Matthew and Mary were having a baby everyone would be so happy."

"Everyone will be happy for us." Patrick vowed trying to offer whatever comfort he could.

Edith nodded agreeing, "They will…. I suppose I'm thinking about them. They would be so happy."

"We're happy." Patrick persisted trying to inject some excitement into his tune. "It's just a bit to take in."

"I guess." Edith agreed clearly unconvinced by his words. "The only thing is I feel as if as happy as we are or as happy as I was when the doctor told me… I am almost that sad now." She concluded her words angling her head upwards and facing him appearing entirely the very opposite of how she had appeared a mere hour ago. Her almost angelic contentment had devolved and she now appeared crestfallen. In an instant he saw the entire course of their marriage in mere seconds, the track from blissful bride to disappointed wife. In weeks he had done this he realized…it had taken only weeks to alter her so totally. What would come of them in the months to come he imagined fearfully.

**.~.~.~.~.**

Neither Matthew nor Mary found that they had much of an appetite. The cook had given them some soup and fruit and they had just managed that. Afterward they had passed a pair of uncomfortable hours sitting in the library. Matthew had pretended to be deeply studying a law book; Mary kept a novel on her lap. Neither bothered to even turn pages, both entirely to absorbed in their own thoughts. Around nine, ridiculously early really, Mary rose announcing, "I think I shall go up. I am tired."

"Yes." Matthew repeated dumbly. He could not work out if it was invitation or statement of fact.

She stopped beside him and gently teased her fingers along the back of his neck. "Matthew?"

He recognized the question she would not voice. "I believe I'll ask Edwards about getting some coca. I think that would help me sleep. Would you like a cup?"

Mary smiled down at him agreeing, "That would be lovely."

Another half hour passed as they were undressed and redressed. Thomas had helped Matthew into pajamas and into bed, before going to see about his cocoa. Later Thomas returned, placing the tray in the middle of the bed. Moments later Mary came from what had been his dressing room; she had taken to using the room nights, allowing Thomas to place Matthew into bed without an audience. Crossing the room she switched off her beside lamp before unbelting her dressing gown laying it at the foot of the bed. Slipping beneath the sheets she smiled at the tray, "A very nice idea."

He gave her a few moments to settle in and sip her cocoa before beginning, "I've been thinking all evening."

"I thought you were studying a law book."

Resting his head back against the headboard he said, "I was as much studying my law book as you were following the goings on in Middlemarch."

"I sometimes believe our marriage would be a great deal more successful if you paid far less attention to me." She drawled sounding more amused than arch.

Matthew smiled knowing her vexation was in part feigned. "You are far to intriguing for me to ever regard you with anything less than the whole of my attention."

A slow smile crawled across Mary's face, "Mr. Crawley are you flirting with me?" Did he dare think…could her tone be…hopeful?

"No," He said his voice dropping taking on a more somber tone. Even if she was flirting he needed to say something, to reassure her. "I hope you don't think…. Rather… I know you will be a wonderful mother one day."

"Do you now?" Mary asked sounding a bit surprised. "And how pray tell will this child come to be?" When he said nothing she replied, "Are we to subtract one from Lady Sarah's war orphan rooster?"

"No." He said and even in the silence of the bedroom he was certain Mary had to strain to hear him. For she slid an inch closer, lifting the tray and placing it on her bedside table and then resuming her position, "Then…."

"Mary," He offered quietly, "In a few years you might… I might…"

She turned facing him, "I know what you are saying…I won't have it." She stated reaching for his hand. "You are my husband."

"Mary," He said softly bringing her hand to lips and kissing it lightly. "As much as that means…as much as I might wish otherwise… I won't steal another thing from you…I cannot steal another thing."

Regarding him Mary said nothing for a long moment before observing, "You do go on and on convincing yourself you are stealing things from me," She chided before continuing, "Does it never occur to you I may have little interest in such things?"

"Motherhood?" It was all he could manage.

"Oh Matthew," She said plainly. "Do I strike you as the maternal sort?" As if eager to answer her own question Mary said, "Touring Haxby all those months ago I decided I was not."

Matthew exhaled before stating, "If you were married to Sir Richard you would be expecting a child by now."

"I hardly think so," Mary replied staring determinedly ahead.

Missing her tone Matthew said, "Of course you would."

"I would not." And her tone had never been so certain. "I would not have had Richard Carlisle's child." Matthew looked up seeming startled by the conviction in her tone. Seeing his confusion she offered as if needing to justify her words, "There are ways to arrange things now days."

A long moment passed with their eyes locked on each other but their tongues firmly stilled. Finally Matthew said,"I should be more surprised than I am, I suppose." He phrased his words pronouncing the words with a certain gravity, measuring each word careful not to say to much or to little. "But Reginald dragged me to far too many slum births to oppose such methods."

"Are you comparing me to such women?" Mary questioned finishing by saying, "I suppose you must… we women are all tied by the weakness of our sex and the presence of our wombs."

"So you decided against that." The syntax he chose, the way he said the word made it more a statement than a question.

"He could only force me into marriage and his bed." Mary said flatly. "I was not about to allow him to win every battle." She reached out touching his face so very gently, resting her palm along his cheekbone, running the pads of her fingers over the tiny pricks of stubble pressing into her tender skin.

Matthew burned to speak to rage against such a sad, unhealthy situation. Yet, intuitively he sensed his wife would not favor such sympathy indeed would judge his concern more in the nature of pity. Mary scorned pity of all types. So while there was much he yearned to say, questions that burned on his lips, he felt they would be inappropriate. The one thing perhaps the only thing he had taken from the war was the realization one must carry one's own burdens and allow others the same luxury. Still, as a husband as a man who had loved Mary Crawley for almost a decade he felt he must say something. Thinking of nothing concrete or reassuring he finally said only her name, "Mary," Opening his arms he felt relieved, gifted almost when she slid so willingly into his embrace.

Wrapping her arms around him she snuggled into his embrace clearly taking comfort from his embrace. "Matthew?" She said softly. "Don't you see…."

"Sshhh." He said rubbing circles atop the soft white cotton of her nightdress. "Just sleep." He urged almost fearful that he did see and that frightened him. Because if she did…if by some insane bit of luck…if she did then… oh even the idea. He simply felt it was too much to take in at this moment. Perhaps in the morning when she was over the shock she'd see…but if she hadn't wanted children with Carlisle…perhaps well maybe she would not mind that they did not have children. She had even mentioned adoption so perhaps. As much as he cursed the hope burgeoning with him, he could not wholly quell it. Indeed it burned in him like a flame igniting hopes he thought long extinguished.

Feeling her yawn vibrate against him, reminded him that they were both exhausted. Using his hand and with a certain assistance from her, he slid down so he lay atop the mattress while she rested atop him. Despite the situation, her soft, soft body felt so heavenly pressed against him. And the soft almost whimpering sounds she made as she settled in were so very pleasant. All the weeks he had thought sleeping beside her gift enough… This though so far exceeded that pleasure and made him greedy desiring even more. "If only…" He said giving voice to his own frustrations.

This time it was her sleepy, "Ssshh." A word she slurred her voice heavy with sleep that silenced him, reminding him he must see to her pain. For a long while he laid watching her sleeping in the moonlight, relishing the feel of her body curled up so close to his, until at last he fell into his own restful sleep.

**.~.~.~.~.**

"So I go out for an hour for a bit of pie and a cup of tea and come back to learn you are to be a father." John Gutherie declared. "Happy news eh?"

"You might assume." Patrick agreed non-committedly.

"And where is your lady wife?"

Patrick shrugged admitting, "I really don't know."

Gutherie turned inquiring, "Shouldn't you?"

"I don't know…" He said aimlessly. "I do not feel certain of anything anymore."

**.~.~.~.~.**

To his relief or disappointment, York found the night quiet. He'd passed through the years when quiet was a respite, and found himself bored by its constant presence. In the war he'd become accustomed to danger and the closeness of death. Night duty even in London did not much compare. He'd been crossing the park for the last quarter of an hour and not seen a soul other than himself. Monotony bored him and monotony was the lot of any copper. Walking along the dark paths he bumped his stick alongside his thigh, whistling an in descript tune. Much to his surprise just ahead of him he saw a lady sitting on a bench in the darkened park. Taking in her clothing he decided she was a finer lady than he was accustomed to discovering sitting alone on a bench park at this hour. Still, it was best to remain cautious so he glanced about searching for anyone who might be…assisting her. Seeing no one he slowly approached calling out uncertainly, "Madame?" She made no reply at first but at length she raised her head. Even in the moonlight he saw her eyes were reddened, swollen too he expected. "Madame?" He said again less and less comfortable. He'd learned how to handle just about any man, but crying women always left him uneasy. He never did know what one did with a sobbing women. Generally he did not care for such behavior. Still the woman looked so stricken he felt his heart go out saying, "Madame you should not be out here at this hour. A lady like you," He cautioned gesturing at her fine clothing. "It's not safe you might be hurt." He felt frustratingly mute unsure how to politely put matters to a woman of her class.

Edith glanced up tears, "You are a bit late I am afraid Constable." She said darkly adding, "Someone has already managed that." Her voice was deflated and it took no great insight into human beings to recognize the pain in her voice. York stood watching her feeling confused and uncertain what to do or say. However, the burden of decision was removed because without a further word she rose and slowly crossed the park and out of his line of vision. York pulled off his hat and ran the back of his hand across his forehead, staring at the empty path. For the life of him he did not know why watching a well-dressed woman cross the park reminded him of the poor souls who ascended the trenches crossing all the while into no man's land and a world beyond.

**.~.~.~.~.**


	25. Chapter 25

So this chapter starts the slow burn that will lead toward a hunt at Downton that literally changes the entire arc. And my goal is to publish it on New Year's Day because after that the entire arc shifts in a new direction. So the next few chapters are crucial and full of some hints of where the story is headed. In the meantime feel free to feed me some feedback.

**.~.~.~.~.**

"Ladies and gentleman," The speaker intoned arranging her face in the most somber of expressions as she continued her speech. "A new tide is sweeping across our great country. It is time to end the shameless killing of life. It is time we stop butchering for the mere pleasure of our palate." She drew in a breath letting her words take effect. Then with deft suddenness she began anew speaking almost angrily her words spewing out like shells from a gun, "The senseless slaughter of men on fields of war is rightly viewed as appalling. We cry out against such actions as we should. Yet, nightly very civilized, proper and respected Englishmen across this nation sit down to consume a meal butchered as savagely as men cut down in battle. We mourn and mourn the loss of our proud heroes, yet we spare not a thought for the dear sheep and cattle and venison that appear on our plates each evening."

Matthew turned his head regarding his sister-in-law saying amusedly, "This was not exactly the sort of political meeting I anticipated attending."

Sybil smiled saying, "That you are surprised to be surprised by me is as Granny would put it, disappointing."

Matthew's lips drifted upwards as he said, "We are forever learning, I suppose."

"The only thing I have learned is that a great many vegetarians have appalling fashion taste." Rosamund sniffed glancing around the room with a disdainful expression.

"There are a great many things more important than pretty frocks, there is passion, and politics, and convictions and beliefs." Sybil exclaimed passionately.

"Undoubtedly," Rosamund allowed before adding, "However one can feel and believe such things while in a lovely frock with appropriate accessories.

Matthew looked downward to disguise his smile at her words.

The speaker's rising crescendo caused all three to return their attention to her, "I ask you one and all to sign the role…join the growing number of English men and women who are willing to forego the pleasures of animal flesh in favor of a meat free lifestyle."

Neither Matthew nor Rosamund evidenced much surprise when Sybil rose and crossed down the aisle mere moments later. Instead Rosamund merely queried, "Do you think it was tactless of me to order roast duckling for luncheon?" Matthew merely arched an eyebrow continuing to watch his sister-in-law sign the roll, gifting her with an easy smile when she turned facing him triumphantly.

**.~.~.~.~.**

Striding into the tea room Isobel glanced around before recognizing her daughter-in-law ensconced at a corner table. "I am sorry I am late. The clinic is always busiest on Saturdays. I can never understand why," Isobel offered taking the chair opposite Mary. "One assumes problems do not only exist on the weekend though our appointments might suggest otherwise."

Mary had listened to Isobel's lecture without showing the slight sign of interest or of disapproval, regarding the entire tale with the same blank expression that she seemed to favor to greet much of life. At length, she offered a tentative smile offering, "I am glad you could find time."

Deciding to neither take offense at the words nor easily dismiss them Isobel admitted, "I was somewhat surprised by your invitation."

Feeling slightly affronted by her tone Mary remarked in the very coolest of tones, "You do dine with us each Sunday."

"Yes." Isobel agreed in the chilliest of tones. Being relegated to the sideline of her boy's life hurt terribly, all the more because she was certain Matthew had placed her there. But she could hardly blame him, and as such Mary had become a handy target.

"Never less," Mary began clearly wanting to get back to her topic. "I felt we ought to have a nice chat on our own."

"I was wondering why you suggested us meeting here."

"The house is rather full at the moment," Mary stated smiling though the smile is a bit strained.

"It must remind you of the bustle of Downton." Isobel replied deciding to soften her tone.

Mary nodded recognizing the truth in her mother-in-law's words. "Once upon a time I supposed I relished such bustle and activity."

"And now?"

Mary had never considered herself terribly articulate. And she loathed the American habit of analyzing one's emotions. Still, lately she had felt herself more introspective. "I suppose the past few years have changed me. " A small smile crossed her face as she admitted softly, "I rather enjoy having Matthew to myself a great deal of the time." She admitted sounding surprised as if only just recognizing the fact. "Sybil is generally so busy with school and her work, most evenings it's just Matthew and me. " Mary ran her fingers over the handle of the spoon dragging her nail over the raised design.

Recognizing Mary was slightly uncomfortable with admitting such feelings Isobel decided to shift the topic saying, "I presume you invited me here for a reason."

Mary nodded gratefully stating, "I was hoping you could assist me with locating another doctor."

"I hope you are not unwell." Isobel said feeling a flush of concern. Matthew's spirits were so tenuous. And despite his protestations and talk of convenience she knew that his happiness was bound solely with the woman seated across from her. If anything, anything were to happen to Mary….Isobel was not certain her boy could take another blow.

"Not at all," Mary answered reassuringly. "But with Matthew's condition and my sister's pregnancy I simply wish to find a physician I have more faith in…And one whose manner is more aligned with my expectations."

Isobel glanced up replying, "I am surprised that you do not seek such advice from your sister." Isobel said adding in an admiring tone, "Lady Sybil most likely knows any number of such men."

"Undoubtly," Mary acquiesced before adding, "But knowing her tastes her choice of doctor would sit cross legged on the floor chanting and offering gibberish." Mary shook her head saying, "I should like someone a tad more practical than that."

"I hardly think the rest of your family would consider me the more practical one." Mary smiled and the pair felt an easiness that was unlike their earlier encounters.

**.~.~.~.~.**

"So Mary has embraced her committee work?" Rosamund drawled sounding rather bemused by the notion. After the meeting they had returned to Rosamund's house for luncheon.

"Well good for her I suppose." She declared striding into the dining room. "For me I can never stomach that sort of thing."

"Don't you feel you ought to work….improve the world?" Sybil prodded curiously.

Taking her seat Rosamund shook her head answering, "I suppose I ought to… but I can never seem to figure out how one manages such things while retaining any level of respectability." She shook her head as if confused by the mere notion. "When I married dear Marmaduke he suggested I go to those things with his devil of a mother." She did not pause or even seem to notice Matthew and Sybil's soft chuckles. "After a few weeks he no longer suggested such things."

"Why?" Sybil questioned taking her own seat, seeing Matthew rolling up against the opposite side of the table.

"Well the truth of the matter is," Rosamund confessed with a disarming frankness. "I can only go to so many committee meetings before the urge to burn down offices, destroy golf courses and smash glass simply overtakes me."

"I did not know you were a suffragist." Matthew said spooning some of his fruit.

A puzzled expression crossed Rosamund's face. "I wasn't." Without significantly pausing Rosamund carried on remembering, "I suppose I became a tad to militant." She shrugged idly finishing her story with a vague, "After Marmaduke fetched me from the jail he never mentioned me doing committee work again." Angling her head a pleased smile covered her face as she said, "A good thing, I suppose. Left to my own devices I had the makings of a martyr or a murderer."

Having realized it was best to take Rosamund's reminisces with a grain of salt, Matthew reached for his glass taking a refreshing gulp of water before remarking, "I am famished."

Facing him Sybil stated, "It goes without saying that I will not be eating meat."

"Of course not." Matthew replied having expected such a declaration since the meeting.

"Why ever not?" Rosamund questioned having not given the first thought to such an occurrence after the meeting. Amid the speaker's declarations she had felt a certain revulsion at the notion of luncheon, but once they had stepped into the cool air her appetite had returned. Now she felt a certain fog in regards to the meeting. Certainly she remembered the speaker and the topic, but she felt little compulsion to consider the topic once she left the hall. As such, she viewed her niece's words with a mixture of surprise and growing confusion.

"I simply refuse to continue to propagate the murder of defenseless animals."

"Doesn't propagate refer to reproduction." Matthew felt a blush spreading across his face and neck at mentioning the topic.

"I had a governess," Sybil offered blithely by way of an explanation for her lapse in syntax. "I can no longer consume animals that were slaughtered merely for my pleasure." Sybil saw Matthew react slightly; his gaze altering, the slightest twitch in his hand, yet her tone only became more pointed as he insisted. "The senselessness must stop."

Sighing Rosamund said, "I do admire your conviction for change, and your desire to improve the world. Mercy knows there are many things that need improving." Seeing Sybil's smile she flagged a bit before continuing, "But I do not understand why it must impact my table." Fearing Sybil was about to interrupt her Rosamund quickly interjected, "Change can be wonderful and necessary, but it can also be self-serving and frivolous."

"You think me self-serving?" Sybil asked, the slightest gurgle in her words betraying her fears.

Rosamund reached for her hand applying the slightest of pressure saying, "You never. Your methods and ideas sometimes…. I embrace my frivolousness but I fear you will not be able to do the same. And if you cannot you best shed such affections early, or else you will drown beneath their weight."

Accepting this rebuke with a faint smile Sybil stated doggedly, "I still am not eating any meat."

Rosamund smiled accepting this and vowing, "Well I shall happily consume your portion." As if invoking the food, the butler entered the room stiffly, a silver serving tree stretched before him like a gift being proffered for the assembled company. Reaching the table he set the tray down lifting the cover with a dramatic flourish. The sight of the duck, the smell…usually so appetizing, and so very welcome became something else entirely. Rosamund lifted her napkin using it to cover her nose from the scent. Matthew physically recoiled, turning from the bird. Watching them Sybil could only smile victoriously as her aunt said in a strangled voice, "I think we should prefer vegetables."

**.~.~.~.~.**

Lifting her tea cup Isobel inquired interestedly, "And how is Edith?" Seeing Mary's inquisitive gaze upon her Isobel explained, "Of course I was told of her news. Your grandmother wrote me." She said delivering her final words as a subtle rebuke.

Mary glanced upward replying in a clipped tone, "Behaving as if she was the very first woman to conceive a child." Mary's answer was purposefully flip; and as such she knew unacceptable to Isobel. Therefore, she paused only a moment before replying more thoughtfully, "She seems quite pleased. Of course it is early days."

"Yes."

"Of course," Mary continued tartly. "Now that Edith has become a proper brood mare, Mama and Papa could not be happier." Mary said adding, "Papa has already consulted Sir Philip Tapsell about assisting with her care."

Isobel nodded familiar with the name, though little more than that. "And you. How is the news affecting you and Matthew?"

Mary looked upwards seemingly puzzled, "We are excited about becoming an aunt and uncle, of course." There was a touch of confusion in her words, as if she was puzzled by the question.

Isobel for her part seemed equally confused prodding, "Still I assume it is difficult."

"Difficult?" Mary repeated as if sounding out a foreign and dimly understood term, "Not especially."

Sensing Mary was either unaware or purposefully ignoring her meaning Isobel explained her meaning stating, "I refer of course to the idea of children."

A long moment passed before Mary replied, "I see."

"Matthew always wanted to be a father." Isobel said softly a kind of sadness resonant in her tone. "I can hardly imagine how this must be affecting him."

"He would have been a wonderful one." Mary agreed sadly before saying, "He hasn't mentioned it beyond his role as uncle."

"Matthew does not mention a great many things." Isobel said adding, "That does not mean he does not consider them deeply."

Sensing something of a challenge in her mother-in-law's words, the slightest hint that she did not know her own husband, Mary replied with forced sanguineness; "Still it's best not to dwell on things that are never to be."

Isobel glanced into her tea asking, "Is it really so easy…putting things that way."

"Only on the days I can convince myself to believe those words." Mary replied with more frankness than was her wont. Recognizing the incongruity in her statement she shrugged her shoulders.

"Still you must feel…" Isobel pressed seriously. "You must think of children."

Mary paused seeming to consider Isobel's words before answering, "Not to excess."

"But you must have thought…"

"I expected to have children certainly." She sighed a little as if aggravated to be reminded of such things, "I was aware of my duty."

"Duty?" Isobel repeated the word. "That's hardly the way I contemplated Matthew's birth."

"I suppose it was different for you." Mary said begrudgingly. "For my sort marriage and motherhood were expectations, duties one was simply expected to submit to."

"You make it sound almost barbaric." Isobel did not bother to disguise the judgment in her tone.

Mary contemplated her tea for a time before replying, "I suppose it is….But it was the world I expected. A child was part of that world. I suppose in that respect I ought to be disappointed."

"But you are not."

"I am very happy with Matthew." She answered and it was a cagey response, and one that did not illuminate her actual opinion.

"But of course you and Matthew could have children." Isobel offered curious how Mary would respond to her suggestion.

Mary eyed her seemingly befuddled her face flushing, "This is hardly the place to discuss such a matter."

Confused by her daughter-in-law's response Isobel clarified her intent stating, "I speak of your work with Lady Sarah." Mary's expression reflected an unusual expression of perplexity as if she remained stumped by a challenging riddle. Seeking to relieve her confusion Isobel said, "I assumed that was why you were involved with the orphans' charity."

"I had not given it a thought." Mary's words were so quiet as to be difficult to hear, and therefore impossible to decipher.

**.~.~.~.~.**

After a pleasant, though meat free luncheon, Matthew had been happy to depart Eaton Square for the short motor to Grantham House. Sybil was working the night hours, so he thought he would spend the afternoon with his wife. His wife, he thought oddly, when had he stopped thinking of Mary simply as Mary and transitioned to thinking of her as his wife? Times were changing he saw such changes every day. Yet lost in the midst of day to day life something was shifting in his own perspective. The first raw signs of spring were emerging. Flowers pushing up against the grasses, the slightest elevation of temperature, the way the world felt slowly refreshed as if they were shaking off the fearful weight of war and beginning a new season.

Part of Matthew despised such easy alterations. He hated that the world was moving on, when boys like Peter Simon would remain forever dribbling into their soup, when lads like William Mason were left prostrate on a field. It felt sinful to let them recede, to forget them for even a breath. Yet, Matthew realized he was slowly doing that in a hundred different ways. The cannons still filled his brain but they were growing softer as the relentless tide of day to day living subsumed them beneath the noise of day to day life. He would never forget or not regret those horrible years, yet ever so slowly he was beginning to move past them. The cannons boomed, but they no longer roared. The sight of the dead remained vivid, but it was no longer ever present. The war would always be a part of him, but he now saw other parts of his life emerging. And he was not at all sure how he felt about that. It was easier to stew in bitterness than try and reach out and clutch again at optimism.

Thomas pushed him into the house, and that rankled… that he could not do so little a thing as open a door and let himself into his home, stopping just past the door. "Where would you like to rest?" Thomas asked carefully, never where will I push you, where must I take you as you cannot take yourself anywhere… Simply "Where would you like to rest?"

"I think I will see if Lady Mary could do with some company." He said placing his hands atop the wheels and propelling himself forward. Seeing a silhouette in the corner of the library he called cheerfully, "Mary?"

"Wrong sister," Edith corrected rising rubbing the spine of her book with her thumb. "Mary went to luncheon with your mother."

"Crickey," Matthew answered with forced jolliness. "Wife and Mother-in-law," He said wheeling himself into the room. "That probably won't end well for me."

Edith smiled at his false humor commenting only, "I expect you need not worry."

"One never knows." He retorted cheekily.

Stopping his movement near his desk Matthew asked, "Why aren't you at the hospital?" Feeling a bit bashful he added. "Are you uncomfortable?" For the child of a doctor and a nurse he retained a certain reserve about discussing symptoms of pregnancy.

"I am quite comfortable," Edith said feeling a happy flush coloring her face. "But my husband would be most uncomfortable were I there."

"I do not think that true." Matthew retorted gallantly.

Edith closed her book, "You are so terribly sweet Matthew." Her tone was soft and very kind as she added a trace sadly, "But you must know that is untrue." Matthew rolled to his desk and reached for a case file, hoping for a way to evade this very awkward conversation. "Have you seen him today?"

Matthew shook his head, "I spent the morning at a…political meeting then I had luncheon with your Aunt Rosamund and Sybil."

Edith nodded accepting his words and watching him for a time before askinf, "Does he speak about the child?"

"I have not asked him."

"And he has not brought it up." Edith surmised smiling oddly as if unsurprised by his words.

Matthew looked up admitting, "No. Men are a bashful bunch. Sitting around talking about infants is hardly our preference." Seeing Edith's beseeching look Matthew added quietly, "He hasn't."

Again she simply nodded her head commenting, "I am not surprised. Not really."

Matthew rolled the ballpoint pen around his hand, clasping it saying, "Marriage is a long business… I am certain that…."

"What?" Edith challenged sharply. "That the baby will heal our wounds?"

"I am told children bind a marriage."

"I was told that," Edith said blankly, and Matthew could not begin to imagine what emotions that were disguised between the syllables of that sentence.

Turning his chair Matthew began to busy himself with the papers on his desk. An unread file drew his attention. He was trying to focus on the documents when he heard a voice behind him saying, "Thank you for that.

Matthew turned his head only slightly inquiring, "For what?" He was trying to feign a deep preoccupation with the documents, as if barely interested in her words.

"For not telling me everything will be well." Edith answered slowly drifting toward the door. Closing his eyes he listened to her footsteps as they moved down the hall and up the steps. Only then did he lean forward resting his head in his hands releasing a deep sigh.

Deciding to at least get a bit of work done before his wife returned Matthew reached for the file. As he did so he cast a look downward and saw the wastebasket. He noted, thinking it odd, that the basket contained only a single piece of paper. He had worked late into the previous night and there had been ten to fifteen sheets of paper. Each morning the basket was dumped. Surely it must have been dumped. Still a single piece of paper… He thought it odd for only an instant before his mind turned to other thoughts.

**.~.~.~.~.**

"I fold and bow before a far superior player." Guthrie announced laying his cards on the table which separated them.

Patrick smiled leaning back against his chair, "Defeat smells sweet!" Gathering the cards he said, "Shall we play another hand?"

"I suppose I can lose again," Guthrie agreed amiably. "Only I wouldn't want to interrupt your visiting hour."

"Do not give it a thought." Patrick dismissed taking care the cards were all aligned.

Watching Patrick shuffling the cards Guthrie took the opportunity to ask, "Any chance your lady wife will be dropping by?"

Patrick stiffened slightly but obviously, "I suppose there is always the chance. And on some days the probability…."

"My aunt would call that a crooked answer." He commented. Without waiting for the inevitable questioned Patrick began explaining his comment, "An answer you get around to offering when the straight truth isn't easy."

Almost in spite of himself Patrick found his lips turning up and his stiffness dissipating. "No I don't expect my lady wife will visit today."

Guthrie nodded seemingly satisfied with his answer. "She seems kind, sweet."

"She is." Patrick said nodding his head in agreement.

"Then….?"

Patrick looked up curiously. "What?"

"You don't seem very happy."

Patrick chuckled observing, "That's rich coming from you."

"Well I may not be happy, but I'm not unhappy." He observed flatly. "I have passed the point of all feeling. You however have a loving wife and a child."

"Would you be happy with a loving wife and a child?"

"Probably not," Guthrie admitted more easily than Patrick had expected. "But I have never supposed other men had my peculiar disposition."

"Every man has his own burdens." Patrick drawled continuing to shuffle the cards out of habit rather than necessity.

Guthrie found his tongue stilled even as his questions increased. "You are newly married?" He asked thinking it the most diplomatic query he could pose.

"You are asking me how badly so recent a thing could go." Patrick surmised setting the cards aside, giving Guthrie the whole of his attention. He looked over as if challenging Guthrie to dispute his words. When Guthrie remained mute, Patrick sighed before saying, "I ask myself that question every day."

"And the answer?"

"I just do not know." He said reaching for the cards, though his mind was clearly occupied elsewhere. He dealt them abstractly with no seeming awareness of doing so. "I suppose once I thought to be a kindness… But love is not kindness. It is a selfish, needful thing. And the kindness I expected to offer I find myself unable to give. I am cruel and selfish and bad to her in a thousand unintentional ways… And that makes my intended kindness seem a pitiful thing."

"And is that is why she does not visit?"

Patrick turned his eyes to his cards admitting, "She does not visit because she knows I do not desire her company."

"And yet she will bear your child."

"Yes." Guthrie waited for him to speak further and explain his perspective but instead he merely lifted his cards saying, "Shall we."

Patrick won the next round of cards easily; Guthrie was too distracted to play his hand well. Or perhaps, as he had said, Patrick was simply the better player.

**.~.~.~.~.**

After an hour had passed Edith had begun to feel badly for how she had left matters with Matthew. While she did not consider him the shining Adonis that Mary and Sybil so clearly did, she did feel a certain affection for him. And it seemed unfair to burden a poor cripple with her miseries. So after washing her face and setting her hair she went downstairs.

Matthew was where she had left him, ensconced at his desk clearly focused on his case work. Looking up he smiled, waiting for her to speak. "Are you terribly busy?"

"Not terribly." Matthew responded the smallest smile playing across his lips.

Placing her hands at her abdomen Edith studied the floor saying, "I do feel I should apologize about earlier."

"You have nothing to apologize for."

"I feel I have a great deal to apologize for…." She disagreed taking the chair placed beside his desk.

"Whatever for?"

"We've hardly had a word together since you married my sister."

"Well," Matthew said after considering her words a moment. "We've been here, and you were at Downton."

"Then I married the man who took Downton from you…" She stopped his attempt to interrupt continuing, "I know it must have been a disappointment. It was Patrick's right of course. But I was callous. And then after his accident I just wired excepting you to help clean up the mess. And you have been so kind."

"Not particularly," Matthew said turning his chair slightly so as to face her. "Your sister once asked me if I was a creature of duty and I rejected the notion. But I suppose war makes one see things differently."

Taking his meaning Edith said, "So you came to rescue us out of duty." She smiled saying, "I do not believe that was your only motive in coming to Italy. In helping us make the best of things. In visiting my husband in tolerating my presence…."

He arched a brow stating, "If I am to accept your argument that no one quality explains my conduct, then I must say that I must also assume no one reason has motivated your conduct."

Edith smiled saying, "I think you may make a very fine barrister. You seem very adept at altering my words to fit your purpose."

"One hopes." He said shrugging. "You know Edith," He said softly, "Very soon you will have the highest occupation there is…" He smiled at his words confessing, "I do sound quite like my father. He used to say those sort of things to expectant mothers. Wanting to comfort them, I suppose"

"And did it comfort them?" Edith questioned a curious look on her face.

"Sometimes..." He hedged sounding dubious. "Does it comfort you?"

"I want it to." She replied fixing him with a smile. "Does that count?"

He smiled stating, "I suppose it has to." Smiling at her he shared, "I have no doubt you will be a magnificent mother."

She glanced down as if unwilling to meet his eyes as she spoke, "I do believe you are biased and I quite doubt if your wife would share your opinion."

"A husband and wife need not share the same mind on all things." He noted neither confirming nor rejecting her argument. "I imagine you have learned that already."

Edith's smile drooped and she took a breath, "I have learned that my husband will not allow me to share his mind." Matthew looked away feeling his neck and face growing scarlet. Despite his mother's outspoken nature, he had always been shy and some of Cousin Robert's notions about women had perhaps rubbed off on him. Perhaps too he was learning from his wife the value of emotional reticence. Seeing his expression and reserve Edith questioned, "Have I embarrassed you?"

"A bit," He acknowledged uneasily. He chuckled, a forced, self-conscious sound. "I suppose in that respect I am more Reginald than Isobel's son. My father was a physician for over a quarter of a century and he still blushed whenever he first walked into a labor procedure." He paused only momentarily before adding, "I suppose marriage ought to temper such shyness but more and more I feel a gratitude for Mary's reserve."

"You love her." Edith stated plainly.

"I don't know about that," Matthew said glancing away, the blush returning full force.

"I do." Edith said adding, "All my life I have cataloged the looks of men who love their wifes." Edith confessed meeting his gaze. "I have seen few, I'm more familiar with the looks of men bored with their wives or almost unaware they have a wife. But now and then I see the rare man who does love the woman he spends his life with… I see that look with Papa and now I see it with you."

"I am certain it is a look Patrick…."

Edith smiled reaching over to lightly caress his cheek. "You are a terrible liar."

Matthew placed his hand over hers pressing it more fully against his cheek, before pulling her hand down, keeping it clasped within his. "Your grandmother came to see me once," He revealed quietly, realizing he had never even told Mary about this conversation. "She told me marriage is a long business."

She squeezed his hand before releasing it. "Is that supposed to reassure me."

"Time can resolve a great many things."

"Perhaps," She granted uncertainly. "But can it change things? I am less certain of that." She said continuing, "I believed so before my wedding." She paused closing and opening her eyes as if trying to shut away an uncomfortable image. "I thought given time I could win his affections."

"It is early days."

"Perhaps," She agreed ruefully. "At one of the parties I mentioned," She said her voice sounding distant as if she were traveling back to that time. "There was a guest, a man young and newly married. He was clearly besotted with his beautiful bride, hanging on her every word, beaming at her, taking pleasure in her vaguest attention." She paused her voice becoming critical as she continued, "His wife clearly did not feel the same ardor, her attention indifferent, her affections strained...The next morning I was playing in the hall, and I overheard papa and mama. They felt so dreadfully sorry for that man. So in love with a wife who was already bored with him, a born cuckold…." She studied her hands saying, "I felt so dreadfully sorry for him, and now I suppose my lot is to play the same role."

"Surely you cannot imagine that he would." Matthew could not make himself say the word, finding it to vile.

"No or possibly yes. …I do not truly know." She acknowledged sadly. "What I do know is I do not believe he will love me, perhaps he cannot love me."

Tears pooled at her eyes and Matthew reached for his handkerchief pulling it from his pocket casting it toward her stating, "Please do not cry." He glanced away seeking to spare her the burden of his feelings.

"I'm not crying not truly," She promised sadly. "You see to cry you must be saddened or surprised. I shed all my reservoir of true tears in Italy. That was when I accepted that I was to be only a subplot in any novel of Patrick's life." Seeing Matthew's furrowed brow she carried on saying, "When you love someone, truly love them… your happiness becomes bound with theirs." She paused glancing away, "I feel that for my husband…but he does not share that sentiment."

"I am sure…" Matthew let his words fall away, unwilling to offer her an empty platitude.

"If he could only give me a chance I know I could make him happy." Edith vowed certainly, "But he will not. And so I must endure the unendurable, forever close to the man I love more than life itself…. A man," She said with a firm certainty. "Who is only fond of me." She turned facing him, "Can you imagine what that is like? Living next to what you most want and knowing he will never let you in, let you close." She did not wait for Matthew's response saying only, "Sometimes I feel as if there is a hole inside of me so deep that I shall drown within it."

Matthew leaned forward extending his hand, an awkward limited movement that made him again want to curse his wretched body, still Edith took it and clung to it as if a life raft in a storm and they sat that way for some time.

**.~.~.~.~.**

Looking out the window Guthrie sighed a protracted and exhausted sound that caused Garrett to look up. "You are quiet today," Garrett said capping his ball point pen. "Typically you have insulted me four or five times by this point in our session."

"This is a session?" Guthrie questioned voicing a sarcasm he did not truly feel. "I was not aware Dr. Rivers had trained you in the mental processes."

Garrett bristled but said only, "Dr. Rivers had precious little success with you utilizing his methods."

"The fault lies not in his methods but in my madness." Guthrie said anxious to defend River's methods.

Scowling Garrett said, "Are you trying to display a previously herefore unrecognized wit? If so do not consider yourself successful."

"Actually I read Carroll this morning and it seems to have affected my mind for the whole of the day."

Garrett turned back to his papers saying, "I am in no mood for your games."

"Well then I will…" But he had no stomach to continue and let the threat fall into the air.

Noting the silence, Garrett looked up noting Guthrie's pallor and atypical silence. "I presume Alice's adventures alone do not account for your state?"

He lifted his cigarette touching it to his lips, inhaling the tobacco into his lungs. "No not that alone."

"Do you care to discuss it?" The question seemed stilted, overly formal. A thing placed due to duty rather than genuine curiosity.

Exhaling the smoke watching it dissipate before him Guthrie said, "No."

"If you are overly distressed I can have a draught prepared."

"Life distresses me and there is no draught strong enough to ease that."

Garrett watched him carefully for several long moments before saying, "Miss Crawley will be on this evening. Perhaps you will feel more comfortable sharing your burden with her."

"Perhaps." Guthrie agreed seeking a release from the conversation. Rising to his feet he suggested, "Perhaps the draught might help after all."

**.~.~.~.~.**

Handing her packages to Edwards Mary pulled her gloves off inquiring, "Is Mr. Crawley in his library?"

"No milady," He replied arranging her packages. "He has retired to the drawing room to read. I believe," He said evenly, "He is awaiting your arrival."

Smiling ever so slightly she raised a brow stating, "Impatiently I presume."

Edward's lips shifted very slightly upwards as he said, "I would presume so milady."

"Then I should not keep him in suspense." She said pulling her glove off even as she strolled down the hall. "Good evening husband," She said fixing him with a warm smile.

Matthew glanced up as if startled, "Oh good evening."

Studying her husband Mary declared, "You look pensive."

"Pensive," He repeated trying to play off her concern.

"What are you thinking about?"

"Nothing," He answered an instant to rapidly, and she thought he was trying to convince himself as much as her. "Nothing." He repeated and there was more certainty in his words as if saying it a second time convinced him.

Deciding to assist him in lightening the mood she asked delightedly, "May I ask about the seating arrangements?"

Patting the cushion Matthew beckoned her stating matter of factly, "I felt like sitting on the sofa." He explained. "While I cannot know physically, I imagine it to be uncomfortable to be always in that blasted chair."

Mary merely arched a brow musing, "I suppose it must." Lowering herself next to him Mary fought against a blush that seemed to be rising in her cheeks. Ridiculous as it seemed she realized that aside from their bedroom she had not sat so closely to Matthew in years. Sitting thigh to thigh felt delightfully intimate and yet very, very fitting.

"Did you have a nice chat with my mother?" He queried reaching for his cognac glass which he'd has Thomas place on the table.

"I did actually," She said smiling, "Very educational."

"That sounds faintly menacing."

"You need not concern yourself." She smiled glancing at his drink. "May I have a sip?"

He paused for only a moment before replying delightedly, "Certainly."

In response she took the glass and only smiled as she sipped the drink. "Very nice." She felt the weight of his gaze upon her, deciding that she liked it she shared, "She is going to locate us a new doctor."

He took the glass she offered taking a sip before observing, "I suppose I ought to drink to that. I don't relish that beast having another go at me." He said taking a sip of the cognac before continuing, "Of course I need not summon a doctor the next time such a thing happens. We know now it's merely a sign of my psyche conjuring symptoms."

"We certainly will call a doctor if that occurs again." She vowed firmly. "I will not allow you to suffer physically for one instant more than is necessary."

Matthew seemed, she thought, about to comment. Instead he leaned over pressing his soft lips against her cheek. He made no comment afterward simply sat back up, as if such a thing was a normal occurrence. Finding her voice Mary asked trying not to sound nearly as pleased as she felt, "What was that for?"

Matthew smiled saying, "Just for being you."

"That does not generally earn me cheek kisses." She noted trying to keep a casual tone even as her heart galloped in her chest.

"I see," He answered with mock seriousness. "If it disturbs you I will certainly not do that again."

Mary studied him before saying, "I did not say it disturbed me."

"Then perhaps I shall do it again."

"Perhaps," Mary agreed smiling affectionately before returning her gaze to the center of the room, deliciously cognizant that his gaze remained fixed only upon her.

**.~.~.~.~.**

It was some hours later that Sybil pushed the door open entering the room with the softest of footfalls. Through the silhouetted light visible via the slightly ajar door she saw Patrick. He was lying on his back with a pajama clad right arm thrown over his forehead. His light snore further confirmed her assumption that he had become lost in dreams, he looked more peaceful than she had ever seen him. Leaning down she placed her hand inside his good one pleased when he squeezed it, as if even in sleep he recognized her presence.

"Late call?" A voice called surprising her and causing her to almost stumble. Quickly easing her hand outside of Patrick's she turned saying, "John?" Hearing the surprise in her own voice, she intoned more dryly, "I did not expect you to be awake."

"I had a draught earlier and now I seem unable to return to sleep."

"Dr. Garrett said you were upset," She said trying to clothe herself in professionalism as a tonic for the emotions stirring deep within her.

"Life upsets me." He said blandly.

Sybil rolled her eyes declaring, "You really should meet my sister. She is the only person more dramatic than you are."

"I am not dramatic." He insisted flatly. "Just truthful. People find that uncomfortable and feel it necessary to dismiss that by calling it a dozen different things." He watched her waiting for her to object or dismiss his comment. Her silence indicated she could do neither, so he carried on saying, "He's not happy." He had a tendency to segue way from one topic to another with a kind of randomness borne of complete honesty. When he gave up caring about much, he found conversation an easier thing altogether.

"He is adjusting." Sybil insisted in a tone suggesting this was what she wished rather than what she believed.

Guthrie shook his head, "He's not. He is as much a candidate for Rivers as I am." Sybil fought against the idea even as some part of her brain did accept it. "He is not happy and if he does not find a way to be happy you will find him with wrists in the style of mine." Guthrie looked up waiting for Sybil to disagree, to argue against his thesis. Instead she merely looked sympathetically at the sleeping patient as if understanding a riddle he could not even begin to piece together.

**.~.~.~.~.**

Pushing the door closed behind her Mary stepped down the hall toward their bedroom. Entering the room she saw it was dim, illuminated only via a small silhouette of light cast by her bedside lamp. Matthew lay slumbering flat on his back, his left arm slung across his forehead. Mary smiled at the image how handsome he looked relaxed in sleep, more like the young solicitor who had courted her so earnestly than her often somber husband. The war had taken so very much from him but at moments like this she was granted a glimpse of the Matthew that still existed, the one she hoped her love could in time at least partially revive. Walking over to her dressing table Mary twisted open her hand cream, dipping three fingers into the bottle she lathered the cream atop her hands and arms, before repeating the process with the other hand. Glancing at her braid in the mirror, she heard soft footfalls coming from a bedroom down the hall. Near nightly Edith paced a good half of her nocturnal hours, only falling into a restless sleep. Several nights in the past weeks she had woken hearing the lonely steps. Matthew, thanks be, seemed increasingly immune to the sound. He would waken but once satisfied that she was safe, he would almost immediately fall back asleep. The war, she assumed, limited the kind of sounds he could worry over. For her own part Mary found herself uncertain of her feelings. Usually any action of Edith's quickly roused her most negative recriminations. And of course this state was partly Edith's doing. A blinded lieutenant could tell Patrick was merely tolerant of her… How Edith had walked down the aisle knowing her fiancée merely liked her was beyond her understanding. Still, Edith had made her bed and had best learned to lie in it. Pacing the night away would do little to ease her plight. On the other hand Mary had lately taken to remembering the tiny girl who had crawled into her bed during thunderstorms, the woman who had looked so blissful at the thought of a child. It was so very complicated. And hadn't she flung herself at the same chance Edith had… Hoping Matthew would love her. He did not yet, she knew that, but perhaps in time. And he was a marvelous husband whereas Patrick was an utter git. It was all so muddled in her mind. Her dislike for Edith often overridden by her growing distrust of Patrick… Her luck with Matthew, versus Edith's unlucky connection with Patrick…. The more she considered it the more confused she began. More than anything Mary disliked the fact that Edith was causing her to feel an iota of sympathy for her plight. Edith had Downton, she would be the Countess, and now she had a child coming. Meanwhile, poor Matthew who was so much more suited to the role of Earl, she who was born to be the countess, were to be denied the estate and even the small comfort of a child. It all felt so terribly wrong. Yet, poor Edith was alone in her room. Whereas she had a wonderful husband to love for the rest of her days… How could she not pity Edith? Unsettled and uneasy with her sympathy for Edith, Mary turned toward the bed vanquishing Edith from her thoughts. This room was her refuge a place just for she and her husband. Shucking her dressing gown, she laid it at the foot of the bed smiling as the top of the gown settled atop Matthew's dressing gown. Sliding under the covers she moved instinctively toward the center and Matthew's warmth. His blue pajamas looked so smart yet she missed the softness of his older pairs against her cheek. Perhaps that explained his favoring the green stripped pair she forever envisioned discarding in the fire, an accident she would claim, but a much-planned one. Smiling at the mere notion she twisted to turn off the lamp.

Rolling onto her side she snuggled up against Matthew relishing his warmth and the scent of him. The movement seemed to half-awaken her husband for he mumbled, "Mary?"

Hugging him she soothed, "Go back to sleep."

Matthew seemed to follow her suggestion for his eyes closed and his breathing quickly evened out. Resting her head atop his chest Mary let his heartbeat soothe her into her own sleep even as she could hear the echoes from the soft footsteps just down the hall.

**.~.~.~.~.**


	26. Chapter 26

Happy New Year everyone. This chapter could easily be called the pieces are falling into place. It's setting up the fallout of a trip everyone is going to take in a few chapters. For now enjoy the pieces falling and developing things. And feed me some feedback. Also if you have a chance to read my other new story Remember that would be an awesome New Year's gift.

**.~.~.~.~.**

Mary discarded the letter flinging it in her sister's direction. The action was a favorite trick of hers and in her mind she performed it quite well. Her letter did not venture near the butter nor the honey, but landed daintily on the cloth nearest Sybil's plate.

"More bill collectors?" Matthew quipped seeing the gesture, and the accompanying frown on his wife's face.

"Is that my letter from the vegetarian society?" Sybil questioned scooping it up eagerly only to moan disappointedly, "Oh a letter from mama."

"What invective did your mama use to merit such a fling?" Matthew queried in a tone Mary thought altogether to bemused.

"The usual tosh about Edith and her pregnancy," Mary replied shaking her head clearly frustrated by the entire matter. "You would think the way Edith and Mamma and Pappa carried on that my sister was the first woman to carry a child."

"Aren't you excited about being an aunt?" Sybil asked curiously.

"Oh I suppose." Mary replied half-heartedly. "But there is something a little vulgar about having a baby so soon after you marry. It makes one wonder if you were loose before the event or overly eager afterwards."

Lifting his cup Matthew suppressed a smile but remained otherwise silent.

"Mama says twins run in the family…" Sybil continued scanning the letter interestedly.

Mary shook her head sadly, "Clearly the American side."

Matthew looked up interestedly, "What makes you say that?"

"Americans are the only sort who have the same number of births as farm animals."

"You know Mary," Matthew observed sounding amused and yet a trace sarcastic, "You really ought to commit these musing to paper. I would hate to think Sybil and I were the only ones privileged to share your great wisdom and insight."

Smiling as if pleased by the thought she declared, "I may well do that."

Sybil exchanged a grin with Matthew, before wiping her mouth declaring, "I am late," as she rose to her feet.

"Are you a student or a doctor today?" Mary queried reaching for her tea cup.

"Both," Sybil said gathering her books from a side table. "I am working with Dr. Garett today."

"Oh I can hardly wait for the dinner time discussion." Mary frowned at the thought.

"Well you shall have to," Sybil announced stating, "I have study group tonight."

Mary raised a single eyebrow inquiring, "What in the world is a study group?"

"It's a group from my anatomy class. We are going to review for our exam."

"I was in a study group during law school," Matthew shared brushing the napkin over his lips. "It was frightfully useful. A real help for exams." He said placing the napkin on the table, "Since we're both going to the hospital shall we ride together."

Even as he spoke, Edwards strode in stating, "Lady Edith says she will be waiting in the foyer."

Mary looked up from the letter she was reading, "You are leaving? I thought you had the day off?"

"I do." Matthew answered taking a last sip of tea. Returning the cup to the saucer he explained, "I am going with Edith to fetch Patrick home from the clinic."

"That requires you," Mary demanded angrily. "Can my sister manage nothing on her own? I swear pregnancy has rendered her a complete invalid." There was a perhaps unsurprising anger in her question. "I thought we could spend the morning together."

"Well we can afternoon together." He suggested backing his chair up and turning in the direction of the door.

"And what am I to do in the meanwhile?"

"Work on your book," Matthew suggested grinning as he rolled out of the room.

Mary frowned exclaiming, "Very funny!" She rolled her eyes and reached for a slice of toast which she ripped into two pieces placing one in the saucer and biting into the other with a certain savageness.

**.~.~.~.~.**

Handing the small boy a worn teddy bear, Lavinia wiped his mouth with her handkerchief. "Is that better Ralph?"

"Yes," He said in a raspy tone. "Will you come and visit me again next week?"

"Of course," She agreed gifting him with a small smile as she lifted the blanket pulling it just below his chin. "Sleep now," She urged giving his nose a final tweek before rising and crossing the room.

Removing her apron she handed it to the ward sister saying, "I think he's down for a nice nap." Offering her a warm smile she said, "I will see you next week." Taking her bag she walked out of the ward and turned toward the elevator and almost directly into Isobel Crawley.

"Lavinia," Isobel exclaimed in surprise. "Whatever are you doing here?"

"I volunteer here." Lavinia said matter of factly. "The children's ward."

"You volunteer in a hospital?" Isobel's words ill-disguised her obvious shock at this news. "You never mentioned…"

"I didn't..well not before.." Lavinia admitted uncomfortably lacing and unlacing her fingers as if wanting to relieve a certain pressure, "Not until after…after Matthew sent me away."

Isobel cleared her throat trying to fill up the silence that had fallen between them. "I see."

"I wanted him…myself to know that I could face what he feared I could not."

"I see," Isobel remarked sounding deeply uncomfortable, "Well that hardly matters now."

Lavinia frowned confused by her meaning countering, "Actually I believe it matters a great deal or rather will matter a great deal…in a short while."

Isobel studied Lavinia admitting, "I am afraid I do not take your meaning."

Seeming unsurprised by Isobel's words, Lavinia requested, "I was about to call for my regular cab, perhaps we could we go somewhere and talk?"

"I have a short errand to run here if you could wait 10 minutes."

Lavinia dipped her head in acquiesce agreeing, "I will wait on the bench in the lobby."

"Very well," Isobel agreed turning to complete her errand and wondering all the time about Lavinia's request and obscure comments.

**.~.~.~.~.**

As they crossed the streets of London, Edith fretted with her gloves. She pulled the soft gray gloves off her delicate hands. She folded the fabric and then unfolded it numerous times. She ran the fabric through her fingers, running the pads of her fingers over the fabric. Matthew watched her ministrations to the fabric through his steepled fingers for some time without comment. Only when Sybil climbed from the car, and entered the clinic did he speak, "You seem awfully nervous for a bride bringing her groom home?" He waved his fingers at Barrow indicating he wanted a moment alone with Edith.

Edith lifted her gaze to meet his admitting, "I suppose I left that girl behind in Italy." She said once he closed the door offering them some privacy.

Matthew studied her for a moment before turning to examine the street scenes through the window. "We all leave bits and pieces of ourselves in places." He mused thoughtfully continuing to stare out the window, "But it's the parts we carry with us that matter."

"I think you may have something of the poet in you."

Matthew appeared ready to speak, but seemed to think better of it, and when he spoke it was merely to suggest half-hopefully, "Perhaps once you two get settled at Downton things will be easier."

"Easier," Edith repeated the word sadly. "No one tells you do they how hard it is to love someone. How it's the hardest thing in the world."

She waited for Matthew to object, but he remained silent for a long moment before saying, "No they don't." And without further comment he opened the door, gesturing for Barrow to help him from the car.

**.~.~.~.~.**

After breakfast Mary retreated to the morning room to read and compose her mail. She did this each morning dragging the task out for as long as humanly possible. She was beginning to understand why her Mama laid abed much of the morning. With an efficient staff one really had to find things to fill up the day. Hearing the ringing of the bell she smiled, entertaining a guest would take up at least a good half hour of an otherwise dreary morning.

"The Dutchess of Crowborough, " Edwards intoned leading the petite blonde woman into the room.

"Good morning Mary," Sophie offered her greeting apologetically, "We have just returned from Berlin and heard about poor Patrick. I had to drop in straightaway." She said leaning over to take Mary's outstretched hand and clasping it within her own. "How is he?"

"Quiet well," Mary replied glancing over toward Edwards, "The Dutchess and I would like tea or," She said glancing over at Sophie, "Do you prefer coffee."

"Cocoa if it isn't too much trouble to American."

Mary smiled saying, "Cocoa for both of us then." Turning back to Sophie, Mary inquired with the frankest interest, "You must tell me about Berlin. Is it as…interesting there as people say."

"It was interesting but a little shocking even for an American like me. London is so tame by comparison." She punctuated her words with a high giggle, seemingly finding great mirth in her story.

"London is like a poky old housewife, I'm sure I would find Berlin a great deal more interesting." Mary said confidently.

Sophie smiled a little uncertainly confiding, "I'm not certain Mr. Crawley would venture into some of the places the Duke and I visited."

Mary nodded acknowledging, "He is a bit traditional." She could envision their journey across Berlin. He'd drag her to churches and she would offset the boredom by making pithy dismissive remarks, and they'd have a laugh over luncheon at a hotel. The idea made her smile and she very nearly missed Sophie's next words.

"But he seems a good husband."

Mary's smile was genuine as she agreed happily, "He is…"

**.~.~.~.~.**

"Your wounds looks to be clean of infection and healing nicely," Garrett stated stepping away from Patrick's draped face. He had poured alcohol and cleaned the wound, causing Patrick to want to scream out in pain. He swore that Scottish monstrosity found a way to ensure the rubbing alcohol slipped into every crevice on his wounded cheek. And the liquid alcohol caused his face to feel aflame. "You will need to return once a week for the next month to ensure no infection flares up."

"Of course," Edith agreed causing Patrick to turn his gaze toward her. She was standing awkwardly next to Matthew across the room, whereas he and Garrett were similarly positioned. It felt like some ghoulish perverted tale of two mismatched couples. "He can go home today?"

"Yes," Garrett agreed an atypical smile crossing his face.

The smile Edith gave him in return was so hopeful it was very nearly pathetic, Patrick decided. "I'm sure he will heal a great deal faster under our care."

"He will have to remain in London for a month, " Garrett informed her his Scottish brogue giving his words a burry but pleasant sound. "I want to watch for infection and keep the wound clean."

"Of course," Edith affirmed nodding her head.

"Very well then," Garrett agreed closing the chart and trotting toward the door. "I'll send a nurse in to get you properly discharged."

Matthew watched him leave before putting his hands on his wheels saying, "I am going to get a bit of air in the hall, give you both some privacy."

Edith watched as he too went out the door pulling it closed behind him. Once they were alone she looked up at her husband saying, "So I'll take you home."

"Yes." He said adding, "I'll be glad…being at home."

"Yes." She replied very softly.

Patrick glanced over at her thinking this was one of the few times they'd been alone since Italy. "Before we go home," He began awkwardly feeling a need to say something but not clear precisely how to put his thoughts into words. "Edith about what happened… I'm sorry…"

"Don't." She said firmly. "Don't say anything…. Let's just…. Let's try to make things better." She looked down at then forced herself to look up saying, "Let's try to make things better."

"Of course." He promised forcing a smile. She returned it and he noticed little conviction in her movements.

** .~.~.~.~.**

"Welcome," Isobel said flipping the switch and watching the room suddenly illuminated and a good deal more cheerful.

"This is very….cozy," Lavinia observed taking in the small room with a keen, interested gaze.

"I have a bedroom and a kitchen," Isobel said pleasantly. "I suppose it is a bit small," She admitted with a shy smile. "But I am serving my country. There is a perfectly pleasant home waiting in Manchester should I require a more spacious abode."

"Of course," Lavinia said quietly. "Only I supposed you lived with Matthew." She said adding, "You always did."

"Matthew is married now," Isobel said evenly. "He and Mary deserve a place to start out on their own."

"The Crawley's London address?"

Isobel turned in surprise answering, "Yes do you object to that?"

"Of course not," Lavinia said coolly. "Only it does keep Matthew in a kind of suspension… keeping him moored to a family and a title that is no longer his own."

"The Crawleys care for Matthew, they have made that very clear. Title or not," She said determinedly.

"No doubt." Lavinia agreed rather quickly. "Only I wonder how Matthew feels… forced to live on the charity of his wife's family."

"I do not believe Matthew sees it that way," Isobel asserted firmly. "I certainly do not."

"Perhaps not," Lavinia said adding, "Perhaps I would see it differently if I were within the family."

"Perhaps," Isobel agreed uneasily clearly uncertain where the conversation was headed. "Shall I prepare us some tea?" She said thinking she would prefer if this girl were to leave.

Smiling Lavinia answered happily, "That would be lovely."

**.~.~.~.~.**

Taking a sip of her cocoa Sophie sighed happily, "Very nice." Mary felt a bit confounded by the girl's euphoric response to a small thing like cocoa. However, Granny always said Americans overreacted to everything so perhaps that was the explanation. "Now you must tell me about dear Patrick how is he coming along?"

A voice rose up in Mary wondering if the girl had ever met much less had the sort of relationship that made him dear. Still, a she forced a smile saying, "Pretty well. Fortunately his wounds were not so very serious."

"Oh what a relief." Her countenance took on such a look of beatific happiness that Mary felt slightly envious of someone who could take such a pleasure out of such an unimportant thing as a relative stranger's health. "Will he and Edith be staying on in London."

"I'm sure," Mary said frowning at the certainty he would indeed be staying on which most likely meant she would be enduring Edith's presence for weeks and weeks more.

Lifting her cup eager for another sip Sophie said, "Now you must tell me about his treatment.

** .~.~.~.~.**

"Very refreshing," Lavinia said letting the last of her second sip of tea roll down her throat.

Isobel tapped her finger against her cup, a physical way of releasing her escalating frustration. "Thank you."

Smiling serenely Lavinia observed, "I am certain you would like to know why I invited myself."

"Of course not," Isobel replied falsely, but feeling almost instinctive regret she straightened stating, "Yes."

"I have always admired your forthrightness," Lavinia said adding, "It's not a quality I have ever possessed but I see it in you. I suppose I envy it." Isobel remained stubbornly silent determined to let Lavinia say as she pleased. "I often think if I had been more forthright…more forceful perhaps…Never mind."

Isobel thought it rather difficult to not mind what Lavinia had not said. Deciding to change tactics and use the forthrightness Lavinia claimed to envy Isobel began, "Perhaps you could tell me what is on your mind."

"Matthew," She admitted turning her gaze from Isobel.

Isobel for her part looked away as well giving Lavinia a moment of privacy. At last she spoke acknowledging , "I know how fond of him you were."

Lavinia turned her gaze fully on Isobel vowing, "I am not fond of Matthew. I love him."

"I am certain you must…on some level." Isobel said categorizing the type of feelings she believed the girl was experiencing. "But he is married."

Lavinia nodded enthusiastically. "That is what I came to speak to you about." Isobel felt her head jerk upwards and focused her full attention on Lavinia. For her part Lavinia continued speaking in lower tone as if confiding some secret, "Before Edith's wedding Cora took me aside and provided me with some insight into Matthew and Mary's relationship.

"Cora?" Isobel said laughing in relief. "She is hardly a fit judge of their marriage."

"She is Mary's mother and as such in her confidence."

Despite having private doubts about the veracity of this statement, Isobel kept her own counsel saying only, "And what did Cora say?"

"She says that Mary is very unhappy with Matthew."

Rolling her eyes Isobel snapped, "She would."

As if feeing threatened by Isobel's doubt Lavinia raised her voice saying, "She mentioned a separation, an annulment." Feeling thrown by the girl's words Isobel took a long and perhaps decidedly unfeminine gulp of her tea remaining silent. Truthfully it was the first time in her life that she felt her tongue paralyzed by shock. "So you see my feelings for Matthew matter a great deal."

** .~.~.~.~.**

"Lady Rosamund," Edwards said opening the door and ushering her into the foyer. "How very pleasant to see you. Is Lady Mary expecting you?"

"I doubt it," Rosamund answered sliding her gloves off and depositing them atop her bag. "I prefer to act with a certainstealthness, the element of surprise being my chief modus operati." She finished her statement by chuckling mirthfully.

"I see." Edwards agreed utterly and totally unclear of what she could mean. Women were a mystery to him and Lady Rosamund had always been a particularly tricky mystery. Recovering he said,"Lady Mary is speaking with the Dutchess of Crowborough but I am certain she will welcome your presence. I shall announce you…" The sudden sound of the telephone pierced the silent hall causing Edwards to look unsurely from the direction of the telephone to Rosamund.

"You may handle the call, I shall announce myself." Edwards looked slightly unsure causing Rosamund to smile saying convincingly. "There are no secrets among family." Edwards nodded and retreated down the hall and the clanging telephone.

As soon as he had disappeared from sight, Rosamund crept closer to the door. Being married to Marmaduke had taught her the value of stealth. Mamaduke had told her practically nothing of his occupation, and was forever having private conversations. In her young bridehood she had assumed this meant he had very exciting and important conversations, and so she had honed her skills on eavesdropping and snooping. Sadly she had soon learned his work was very, very dull and contained little to interest her. Still, she felt it best to maintain her skills. Houseguests were often nothing more than a façade for her gaining necessary practice in skullduggery and snooping.

As such she had little trouble quietly moving toward the morning room doors. And she soon caught her niece's voice as well as another voice which she could not quite place. Stepping closer she peered in through the crack in the doors and saw Mary seated talking to the Dutchess of Crowbourgh.

Just as she meant to speak and announce her presence she heard a voice, clearly the Dutchess proclaim sympathetically, "Of course," she agreed before asking, "And I imagine he requires a great deal of medical care."

"Naturally," Mary agreed sounding only tangentially engaged in the conversation. Clearly feeling a need to defend herself she added, "And of course I would not deny him the care he requires. But it is onerous to be expected to go on and on with the kind of care he will obviously require."

"Will it be ongoing?" Sophie asked reaching for her tea.

"Of course" Mary stated in a clipped tone. "The whole of his life span one presumes."

"It must be torturous on a marriage." Sophie said with obvious sympathy.

"Certainly." Mary agreed sighing, "One wonders how even the best of wives can face such a task." Mary admitted flippantly.

"You don't think… Certainly the marriage can endure."

Not waiting to hear her niece's response, Rosamund backed away almost bumping into the table in the front hall entry. Her face was one of stunned surprise, never in her life had she felt more shocked. Early in life she had decided it best to expect little of people. But to think her niece…. It was unimaginable and she hurried down the hall opening the door and hurrying outside the house and toward her car. "Poor Matthew," She muttered to herself, "Poor, poor Matthew."

**.~.~.~.~.**

"I noticed you were not present for Mr. Crawley's discharge." Garrett observed before saying perplexedly, "I found it odd seeing as he was a family member."

"Did you now?" She responded looking up from the chart Garrett had asked her to review. "How odd as you had me handling Captain Finch's bandages."

"Did I now?" He replied chuckling quietly. Leaning forward he confided, "It is a rough business…your brother-in-law. And I gather your sister is pregnant?"

"Yes." Sybil said adopting the overly pleased tone she had been using displaying whenever anyone asked about the baby. Recognizing an odd incongruity about his connection of Patrick's wounds and Edith's pregnancy Sybil queried determinedly, "You do believe he will recover."

Garrett reached for a cigarette answering, "I expect so. His sort does always seem to fall upon their feet."

"My sort you mean?" Sybil asked curiously.

Placing the flame of his lighter next to his cigarette Garrett watched it turn red and orange before bringing the cigarette to his lips; "If you like."

"You don't care for Patrick." She observed flatly.

"I have no opinion on Patrick." He insisted inhaling drawing the nicotine deep into his lungs then exhaling it. "But the situation strikes me as rather tricky."

"His wound healing?" Sybil replied deliberately searching for the option that best suited her view on the situation.

Garrett glanced over fixing her with a dubious expression. "How he was wounded…and not in the war," He said as if foreseeing her likely explanation.

"He told you he fell while inspecting the ruins."

"Yes," He agreed tapping his cigarette on the ash tray. "He told me that as well I just don't believe him. And I wonder why you do."

Sybil lifted another chart saying, "I'd like to review Captain Briggs case."

"Of course," He said smushing the cigarette in the tray.

** .~.~.~.~.**

Lavinia sat back resting against the cushion expecting Isobel to quickly dismiss her comments. Instead she watched Isobel remaining atypically silent, seemingly unwilling to voice an opinion.

"Surely you see I would make a daughter-in-law more suitable for Matthew's work." She waited a moment for Isobel to object, but finding her pointedly silent continued on with escalating passions. "You and I have always gotten on well. I could help you so much with your efforts."

Isobel continued to stride forward for but a moment before stopping and saying, "There is some truth in your words." She paused. "I have no question that you and I could make quite a powerful team and affect much good."

"Then must agree that my being with Matthew would be so right," She implored her eyes suddenly bright and cheerful.

Whatever her feelings, Isobel felt a certain pang at having to so tidily dismiss this girl's obvious hopes. "It simply would never do." Seeing Lavinia's face fall she quickly added. "You must understand Matthew is married."

"But if Mary is unhappy."

"I hope you don't believe any of the rubbish Lady Grantham told you."

"You think it rubbish?" Her voice seemed to deflate as if by speaking the question she realized its implausibility.

"I believe it to be wholly fiction, the makings of her own imagination and wishes."

Lavinia looked up insisting, "But Mary may have said."

"Has Mary ever seemed the sort to take Lady Grantham into her confidence?"

"But if they were to contemplate divorce," Lavinia prodded stubbornly, "Wouldn't it be better if I were there."

"I have no reason to believe they are considering any such thing." Isobel said trying to inject reason into the discussion.

"But they will," Lavinia said stubbornly. Standing she crossed the room arguing, "The will someday. You cannot imagine Mary will be happy to devote her whole life to half a man."

"I do not consider my son in any way half a man." Isobel declared coldly. "And I would never have assumed you to think so."

"Of course I don't," Lavinia said sounding suddenly tired as if he conversation had exhausted her. "It's only you know how Mary likes to flirt and how she attracts men… Can you imagine she'll enjoy the life of a childless nun?"

"I resent deeply that term."

"Oh its Matthew's term," She said conveying her frustration via the slightly raised tone of her voice. "But can you see Mary being satisfied?"

"Yes!" Isobel said atypically raising her voice. "I believe any girl would be so lucky and grateful to spend her life with my boy. Mary is a smart girl and she loves Matthew she always has and I have to believe she always will." Seeming determined to calm herself Isobel said, "But this is all nonsense because I do not believe for a moment Mary is contemplating anything of the kind."

"But if she is," Lavinia challenged pointedly, "Hadn't we better make plans for Matthew."

"I see no needs for plans," Isobel said coldly fixing the girl with a skeptical expression stating, "You believe me more modern than I am." Isobel announced continuing, "There are a great many modern things I believe in." She shared flatly. "I believe women should have the vote. I believe women should have the ability to control the size of their families. I believe and hope for a day when women will rightly be considered the equal of the male gender." She paused ensuring that Lavinia's attention was fully focused on her. "But the one thing I do not believe in is a divorce for a couple as right as my son and Mary."

Lavinia crossed the room reaching for her bag. Stopping at the door she put her hand on the handle and then turned facing Isobel suggesting, "When Mary makes her decision we can speak again." Then twisting the knob she walked from the room closing the door behind her, leaving Isobel alone feeling more deeply confused than she could ever recall feeling.

**.~.~.~.~.**

Patrick entered the foyer removing his hat. "It is good to be home." He turned toward the clicking sound he heard approaching him. "Cousin Mary." He said greeting her with a tentative friendliness .

"Good afternoon," She said offering him a half-hearted smile. "Luncheon will be served in a half hour. But we thought perhaps you might prefer a tray in your room."

He touched his cheek gingerly as if expecting to find pebble still embedded there, "Yes I think I would prefer that. I wonder though," He requested not bothering to disguise his fatigue, "Might I have something later. I feel in desperate need of a nap."

Mary nodded agreeing, "Of course."

Patrick turned toward the approaching stairs, Edith touched his sleeve saying,"I can help you undress."

He turned shaking his head, "That is not necessary. Barrow can assist me. After that I'd just like a good long rest." And without further comment he turned to climb the stairs.

Edith turned back seeing Mary and Matthew had moved into the drawing room, "Now how did you spend your morning?" He asked her interestedly.

"The Dutchess of Crowborough called," She relayed casually as she took a seat on the sofa near where he had parked his wheelchair. "We can discuss it later if you like. For now would you like to have a game of chess before luncheon."

Matthew smiled agreeing, "That sounds very nice. After luncheon how do you feel about a sit in the garden? I am aching for some sunshine."

"Wonderful," She said smiling happily at the idea. Edith closed her eyes against the pain as she crept further down the hall unable to bear the sight of such happiness.

**.~.~.~.~.**

Isobel rarely found herself at six and sevens. Her training as a nurse had perfectly suited her personality. She was a practical and pragmatic woman. Medicine was not suited for false dramatics or overt sentimentality. Isobel likewise had no sympathy for such women it was part of why she believed she and Cora had never really got on. Still the hour after Lavinia left her rooms Isobel found herself nervously pacing and wringing her hands indulging in the very behavior she disdained in other women.

Lavinia's words, her insinuations kept reverberating in Isobel's mind. As much as she wanted to dismiss the girl's words, she could not help worrying true or not Lavinia would use the words to justify continuing to interfere in her son's life. And the last thing, the absolute last thing, she wanted was Lavinia complicating Mary and Matthew's marriage.

The forthright, logical move would be to simply discuss her concerns with her son. And in another world that would work ideally. However, since his accident Matthew had separated himself from her. At first she had thought he was simply carving out a space for his marriage, and of course that was perfectly right. She understood Mary should and must be his chief confident. And at first she had been content in that notion. Now though she felt it was a great deal more than simply making a separate place. He was separating himself from her care and concern. And that worried her a very great deal. No one knew him better than she did and he was purposefully isolating himself from her company.

Indeed, as far as she could tell the only people Matthew had not separated himself from were his wife and his sister-in-law and apparently Patrick. As much as it pained her she realized she mustn't be selfish. She had to be grateful that he trusted these people, that he desired their company even as he rejected hers. And in that spirit she was utterly unwilling to allow Lavinia to muck around with one of the few people Matthew had not separated himself from…

Oh she had felt sorry for the girl. She could only imagine the pain, the shock of being cast out of your beloved's life. She had felt sympathy for the girl in that area. However, months had passed. Matthew had married another woman. He had built a new life. And Lavinia carried on and on trying to intrude to make her place in a role already filled. That was a thing Isobel could not forgive.

That said a small voice inside her wondered…. Could Lavinia be right? Could Mary be tiring of her boy? Oh the thought wounded her. Her darling had been through so much…. But Mary would not…Even as she tried to dismiss it…. Even then she wondered could it be true. Oh, she thought rising to her feet to once again pace the room. If only she could be sure…if only she knew… A sudden, ridiculous notion came to her head. Oh course she could not do it… She was hardly a reliable narrator. But then she might know... Deciding she would have to trust her judgment she crossed the room entered the hall leaning into the speaker providing the desired number.

"Sir Anthony," Isobel said when the call was at length connected. "This is Isobel Crawley." She listened anxiously through his greetings. However, once he finished speaking she was quick to say, "I do wonder if you could perform a great favor for me." He assented as she had been fully certain he would. "I am going to telephone the Dowager Countess. I'm going to invite her to London. Anthony," she beseeched plainly, "Without asking any questions or explanations… I wonder if you would be willing to escort her to London for me?"

**.~.~.~.~.**


	27. Chapter 27

**.~.~.~.~.**

The car had been idling for some time, emitting a put put putting sound that was beginning to reverberate in the interior of Matthew's head. The night was unusually clear with the last bite of early spring. In a few weeks the bluebells would bloom and as the temperature climbed spring would begin anew. Matthew had always loved Spring best of all, but especially this year he looked forward to the return of warmth, contemplated happy evenings when he could sit with Mary in the lovely garden behind Grantham House. Lost in such musings, Matthew was jolted by the slight tap tap tapping on the window. He straightened causing a wave of pain to crash against his spine. Ignoring the pain, Matthew clumsily reached for the door handle pushing the door open.

"Good evening," Garrett squatted down so his face was even with Matthew's. Observing his top coat and his scarf swinging loosely around his neck, Matthew deduced Garrett too had been out this night. "I presume you are waiting on Lady Sybil." Matthew nodded causing Garrett to offer, "I wonder if you might like to come inside and have a drink to keep off the chill of the night."

Matthew weighed the idea only a moment before agreeing, "Certainly."

**.~.~.~.~.**

"I do find this business has taken on the air of a Greek drama," Violet observed with obvious distaste. "Everything seems to be occurring off stage or in whispered dimly understood conversations." Violet smiled as if pleased with her analogy.

Robert rolled his eyes drawling, "What a dramatic way to put things Mama."

"I did like it myself," Violet confessed smiling seemingly utterly oblivious to her son's tone.

"That was not quite my point." He noted continuing to hold his brandy aloft. They had retired to Rosamund's drawing room after an early supper, the one allowance Violet made to her advanced age.

"Perhaps we should return to the task at hand," Sir Anthony Strallen suggested quietly injecting himself into the conversation.

"I do not understand why you are here," Robert noted huffing in disagreement. He had been fixing Strallen with such looks since their arrival at the Downton rail station.

"Because he is my friend," Isobel stated firmly.

"Yes," Violet agreed with a quick nod and a rare smile. "And the more favored of my traveling companions."

"I was on that train!" Robert stated angrily.

"Indeed," Violet agreed nodding to affirm the fact.

Anthony watched them before vowing, "You may trust my discretion in this matter. I have always had the greatest of fondness for your family and Matthew like myself is a veteran. I am happy to be of any assistance whatsoever."

Robert sighed dramatically, but offered no further objections as he sat back in his chair.

As if satisfied by this reaction Violet spoke asking, "Has Mary spoken to anyone about this supposed unhappiness?"

"No," Isobel said decidedly. "And I do not believe such unhappiness exists." She said folding her hands and resting them on her legs. "I have luncheon with Mary and Matthew each Sunday after we attend services." She let a moment pass as if waiting for the initial diagnosis to settle before saying more. "I have considered each of those days since speaking with Lavinia."

"And Robert said," Leaning forward slightly, apparently eager for her response.

"If Mary is lying or pretending then she is the best actress I have ever seen."

Violet smiled the merest hint of relief evident in her voice as she said, "That is excellent. However for my part, I never believed any of the things that deluded girl was suggesting."

"She did not seem deluded," Isobel mused concernedly. "She is determined and oblivious like anyone in love must be but not deluded."

"You said you thought Mary happy." Robert prodded determinedly. "Surely…."

"I doubt her belief, but I think she has suffered from false convictions, perhaps also being fed false hopes by another."

"Oh I am certain Cora's advice was largely to blame," Violet said casting a disapproving glance at her son seemingly daring him to object. Instead, Robert only raised his glass to his lips taking a sip, his fingers tightening around his glass.

**.~.~.~.~.**

Edith entered the drawing room Glumly noting, "I see we are both spinsters tonight."

Mary glanced up from the Hutchinson novel Matthew had surprised her with the day before. "Speak for yourself."

Edith lifted a brow saying, "It's nearing seven and we've no sign of either man. I would say that puts us in the same lot."

"That is merely a symptom of your own myopic gaze," Mary retortedcoolly. "My husband telephoned me before leaving the office to inform me he was leaving late, and hence picking up our sister late. And as I see neither of them I must presume Sybil too is running late."

"And yet the result is the same is it not," Edith challenged taking the chair opposite her sister. "We are both on our own this evening?"

"And you think that makes us the same?"

"I suppose not," Edith granted reaching for the newspaper. "Only I do wonder why you are so quick to see the differences in us, whereas I recognize only that which is similar."

Mary looked over at her sister studying her for a moment as if lost in thought before inquiring, "What did the doctor say?"

Her lips turned upwards and Edith unconsciously placed a hand on her abdomen. "He says everything looks well, he says that I am healthy. Still," She mused softly, "One knows how much is riding on this child. How much everyone expects."

The ticking of the clock seemed almost oppressive in the following moments, the sound so overpowering in the suddenly silent room. Mary composed and recomposed her reply in her mind several times before offering, "We only want you to be healthy, to be happy."

"Yes," Edith agreed tiredly sounding if she ill believed her sister's words. "That is what everyone says."

**.~.~.~.~.**

"Sometimes I dream about icy water with bodies and bodies floating everywhere." Patrick's voice broke a silence of some minutes.

Sybil looked up from his chart, "You shouldn't think about it."

"How can I avoid it?" He demanded flatly. Sensing she did not understand he said, "Think of the date."

Sybil glanced at the calendar hanging across the room/ The 10th and 11th x out with a neat line. The 12th. April the 12th. The date which she'd written all day without a thought suddenly became something far more serious. "I'm sorry… I didn't…"

"Seven years." Shaking his head he said, "Seven years ago it was the tragedy of the century. And now who remembers?"

"We should have…." She offered apologetically. "I cannot imagine."

"Nor can I really," Patrick acknowledged stating, "Sometimes I wonder if my dreams have any piece of reality in them, or if they are pure fabrications." He rose to his feet, "Sometimes I wonder if reading the articles, hearing people talk is the reality… and I'm just conjuring up my own dreams of it…but I swear I feel the water, it was like knifes slicing into my skin, a kind of cold that you can wake in a cold sweat on a July night and still feel." He shivered though be it from memory or fantasy he was not certain. "It's the damnest thing," He admitted with a hard laugh, "I spend half my days trying to remember… And the one thing I'd dearly love to forget seems determined to never go away." He sighed loudly covering his face with his hands trying to regain some sense of normalcy.

Sybil put down her chart and walked over capturing his hand pulling it away from his face, and squeezing it softly, sliding the pads of her fingers just under his bandages resting them just against his face.

**.~.~.~.~.**

"I hope whiskey is alright with you." Garrett said uncorking the bottle. There was bluntness in his words that belied any true concern.

"Fine," Matthew said adding, "And appropriate I suppose."

"Eh?" Garrett asked then answering his own question he chuckled smiling as he confessed, "Ye might think so…. Quite the contrary my father was a strict Presbyterian. Strict," He repeated coldly. Seeing Matthew's perplexed expression, he explained, "Talked about eternal damnation, wages of sin…" Matthew grimaced causing Garrett to declare, "A right laugh…."

Uncertain precisely what he was expected to say Matthew reached for the glass Garrett extended saying, "It appears you did not absorb all of his beliefs."

"Very few of them." Garrett agreed filling his own glass. "He died during the war." He paused only a moment before recalling, "I was at Ypres sewing the wounded up, and he was coughing his last." He lifted his glass taking an almost savage gulp. Miner," He added as if that explained the coughing.

Matthew sat holding his own glass, feeling ill suited for the conversation. Of late he spent his days listening to other's complaints or stories, but he was seldom expected to share his own. He favored that approach. His wheelchair so often provoked comment, he was grateful his clients seldom spoke of it. He was uncertain if Garrett wanted him to comment so he only said, "My father used to take me to the tenements to observe births." He raised his glass studying it even as he spoke, "I suppose he intended to warn me about the risks of that type of adventures." He laughed uneasily. "Perhaps he hoped to make a doctor of me."

"Fathers," Garrett drawled in the manner of a toast, lifting his glass ceremoniously.

"Fathers," Matthew agreed touching his glass to Garrett's.

**.~.~.~.~.**

Robert toted his empty glass across the room pouring himself a liberal Scotch. "I have spoken to Cora about her actions." He admitted tiredly, "I will try again."

"I fear that will have little success," Violet predicted reaching for her tea. "Americans seem to be the most persistent when they are behaving the most incorrectly."

"Still we must do something," Isobel noted fretfully. "I fear for Lavinia as much as Matthew and Mary."

Dropping into his seat Robert sighed admitting, "She has been ill used throughout this situation."

Isobel dropped her head downward. She well remembered her happiness at Matthew and Mary's news. She could not recall sparing a thought for that sweet girl the whole of the afternoon. She had meant their subsequent meetings to be direct, to help the girl face the truth however painful. Still, her reactions might have been kinder. Whatever her intentions she now viewed her actions more critically.

As if reading her uncertainty Violet stated, "Life often ill uses even the best of us." She fixed Isobel with an atypically soft look adding, "It is best to accept the truth." She paused a moment before adding, "Lavinia must accept the truth…however painful or difficult that may be…"

"I don't disagree," Isobel granted adding, "Nor do I have an idea how one does that." The three exchanged uncomfortable glances recognizing their shared confusion.

"If I might offer a suggestion," Anthony offered timidly. He had felt unnecessary all evening. Violet and Isobel mentioned him only to offset Robert's objections or commentary. Neither sought his opinion or his suggestions. This Anthony found difficult. He so loved to share his knowledge and experience, loved to share stories and antidotes. Sitting here with no role or voice was not to his liking, still he did want to be polite. "I know I am a country man and goodness knows Maude was the only woman to cast an interested glance in my direction," Anthony said a fond smile appearing on his face as he mentioned his much adored girl. "Still it seems to me the best choice to allow the young Crawleys to work out matters for themselves." Seeing the dubious looks on the ohers faces he continued, "Both Matthew and Mary seem to have solid heads on their shoulders and a fair amount of good sense. They know as we all know marriage for our sort is a long business. And they seem to be fond enough of each other to work through the bad spots. If as we think there are problems perhaps they are the ones best suited to address those problems and we should let them do it."

Isobel smiled saying, "I believe that is the very advice my Reginald would have offered."

"Well I believe its absolute tosh." Robert retorted despairingly. "If there is a problem who better than us to handle it. Matthew has been through enough and of course we must shelter and protect Mary from life."

Violet looked at him with utter incomprehension declaring, "I do wonder how I had any part in you and Rosamund's births."

**.~.~.~.~.**

Sipping her Cabernet, typically her favorite wine but tonight she barely tasted it, Mary watched her sister reaching for a large glass of milk. Isobel's doctor had prescribed a diet rich in milk, eggs and vegetables. And as Edith did always seem to relish being told what to do, she had generally followed his restrictions. Likewise, she followed every dictum Patrick set with nun like devotion. Meanwhile, Matthew had made some ridiculous comment about not liking bobbed hair and she could not stop thinking about shearing her hair. She had never been oblivious to Edith's pain, her sister had practically crawled from the womb pained by the world. Still, actually caring about Edith's pain was a new and not wlecome feeling. She far, far preferred sitting around offering witty asides about her sister than actually concerning herself over Edith's well being. Sighing she reached for her wine glass turning it up she took a deep gulp.

"How is your soup?" Mary inquired thinking that speaking to her sister would rapidly eradicate any shred of sympathy she felt.

Edith nearly coughed in her haste to quickly swallow the liquid replying, "It's very good."

"Yes," Mary agreed awkwardly. "Hot."

"Very good and very hot," Edith repeated uneasily clearly bracing herself for some kind rejoinder from her sister.

In the hall Mary heard the chiming of the clock. "Eight," She said reaching for her glass.

"I do wonder what's keeping them," Edith queried pointlessly.

"Yes," Mary answered hearing the last chime of the clock, thinking time did crawl when she was with Edith.

**.~.~.~.~.**

The echo of his shoes clapping against the pavement seemed oppressive, to Thomas, absent the usual sounds of car horns and the occasional street noise that typically accompanied London traffic… The clinic street front was silent nights and silence had become near an oppressive thing to Thomas. Nights had always been his time. He had prowled the nighttime streets. Nights when the downstairs hypocrisy nearly choked him, he'd stride out into the darkness, finding comfort in the movement and the stars. The trenches had murdered that comfort. Fear had stalked him every bloody moment over there but never worse than nights. Nights you could not see it coming…nights you stayed awake shaking with fear… Nights he'd wake in a cold sweat the terror of mere hours before revisiting itself in his dreams. Even now…the war well over, his safety seemingly assured he could not get back his fondness for the dark. And the slight chill of spring had him hugging his arms to himself to keep warm. The clinic light functioned as a beacon causing him to turn toward it and hurry inside.

**.~.~.~.~.**

The Scotch left a vile after taste in his mouth. Having become accustomed to the cellar at Grantham House, Matthew's palate had become selective. During the war he would have consumed similar Scotch with hungry gratitude. Now it took his best efforts not to push the glass away in disgust.A sudden vision of himself and Robert standing outside Downton entered his mind, in hindsight he supposed they had changed him after all.

"You seem quieter than I expected," Garrett observed sitting his glass down on the desk. Reaching for his packet of cigarettes he noted, "I'd expected a barrister to talk more."

Matthew smiled saying, "I was a solicitor first. And in that line you learn to train your ears and close your mouth."

Garrett smiled a toothy pleased smile. Touching his lighter to his cigarette he watched the flame and paper alight, the heat peeling it back, and reducing it to ash. "Sybil speaks highly of you." He observed placing the cigarette against his lips and inhaling the tobacco deep into his lungs. "One would think you were the most brilliant man she had ever met."

"Perhaps because I am," Matthew rejoined with a cheekiness he assumed long dead.

Garrett's smile did not quite reach his lips. "Perhaps…."

"Or perhaps," Matthew suggested probingly, "You believe you are."

Garrett leaned back, "Ah I think not. I am a mender of bones, spending my days patching together the wounded."

"That's a bit of a simplification."

"Not really," He argued taking another sip of his drink before finishing his thought, "I warn Sybil constantly not to romanticize what we do. Medicine can be a rewarding profession, but at the end of the day we are menders not saviors. And if the world was a better place, we'd need considerably less skill to practice our profession."

"And that a simplification," Matthew stated reaching for his own glass. "The world is as it is and rather it's the Boer or the Kaiser we're not destined to be a place of peace. Jerusalem is I fear not to be replicated on our shores."

"You sound like a pragmatic man."

Matthew considered this for a moment before acknowledging, "I believe that I am."

"And yet Sybil tells me you have not sought treatment for your back."

Matthew smiled replying, "I am a pragmatic man."

"There are great strides being made every day in treating injuries such as yours." Garrett reminded him needlessly. "Plus if your wife is anything like her sister I'd imagine it would be a far sight easier to at least see a specialist."

"It might." Matthew said flatly staring into his glass with atypical fascination.

"But you still won't do it."

Matthew took a sip letting the alcohol travel over his tongue and down his throat. Then he leaned forward, placing the glass on Garrett's desk admitting, "I do not fear a great deal anymore. War has a way of separating what matters and what doesn't. But hope terrifies me."

**.~.~.~.~.**

The stringent smells of the wards felt oddly familiar to Thomas. Sickbed smells had become routine to him, wounds a familiar acquaintance. Fortunately the patients here were unlikely to moan or cry out, which was rather a relief. Whatever its bad sides Thomas remained grateful that his work with Clarkson allowed him to finish out the war in relative peace. He had no sympathetic side. He did not care for the patients, but he had prided himself on being professional. And the one time he had cared…. He closed his eyes pushing away the notion as he heard footsteps behind him. Turning he saw a ward porter. Tall. Black hair. Hazel eyes. Skin the color of butterscotch. The porter smiled. Thomas smiled back. And in a moment he hastily followed the porter into a nearby closet.

**.~.~.~.~.**

"Why is he here?" Robert asked watching Isobel laughing at something Anthony was saying. They were sitting on the sofa on the opposite side of the room quietly talking and seemingly amusing one another.

"I suppose because she asked him." Violet answered disinterestedly.

"I cannot imagine why," Robert said flatly. "He begs to be teased with his agricultural obsessions and oddities."

"He is hardly the only Englishman obsessed with farming and situated in a somewhat distant past." Violet observed coolly. "Why does he bother you?"

"I don't know," Robert said returning his attention to the conversation across the room.

**.~.~.~.~.**

"You have been busy a great deal lately," Patrick observed as Sybil rewrapped the bandage covering his cheek, twice a week he came to have it cleaned, and inspected.

"Yes," Sybil agreed clipping the bandage. "Between university and my work here my hours are quite hectic."

Patrick paused feeling her pin the bandage into place before saying, "I am sure….only… "

"Only?" She repeated turning away and back toward her charts. Even without looking she could hear the slight sound of him swallowing, could see it in her mind's eye.

"I wouldn't want…" He swallowed again and she felt he was marshalling his thoughts, trying to gather them together. "I hope you aren't avoiding Edith or… me." The timbre of his voice rose ever so slightly, sounding almost hopeful.

Sybil giggled, an effort really, dismissing his concern, "Of course not." She kept her back to him concerned he might see the dishonesty on her face, read the secret she was yeaning to hide.

"No," He agreed chuckling too, a discomforted sound that seemed to hint at wanting…to believe to be amused, "It is only you used to be home more."

"Well my classes and the work have increased," Sybil began adding, "More is expected of me, Garrett is allowing me to do more, everything is increasing." She spoke rapidly piling lie, upon lie until it grew to the height of an aqueduct. Ancient ruins were constructed of less lies, she thought dismally. "I am very busy." She said as if needing to put a closing statement in to seal her argument.

"Of course," He agreed to easily, too quickly. "Of course." Hearing the dishonesty in his voice, she thought he must to have recognized the trait in her words mere moments ago. And she wondered if lies were worse than memories of water so cold it felt like knives sliding into the skin.

**.~.~.~.~.**

Garrett rocked lightly in his desk chair causing his whiskey to slosh against the sides of his glass. "Sybil has great promise."

"She is a very bright girl."

"Medicine can be a fierce occupation. I only hope she is prepared for it."

"I expect she will learn."

"The learning is the hard thing." Garrett observed rolling the glass between his fingers. "These men….our patients…it's an ugly business with little reward."

Matthew nodded not wanting to seem oblivious to Garrett's point. "She saw that Downton."

"And with her cousin I expect."

Matthew kept his face inscrutable responding, "Yes I suppose she did. We all did."

"It must have been a terrible shock," He said lifting the glass and throwing back the remainder of the glass. "Especially to you," He finished coughing off the last of the glass.

"Not as much as you might assume."

Garrett dipped his head silently acknowledging his point. "Of course. How tactless of me. I do apologize."

Shrugging Matthew said, "It's nothing."

Garrett nodded saying, "So much of this world is now."

While not gleaning his exact point Matthew was glad enough to terminate the discussion saying, "I really must be going."

Garrett rose to his feet saying, "I do appreciate you joining me."

"Of course," Matthew said adding, "My wife and I are having a small dinner next Friday. I wonder if you might care to join the party."

Garrett smiled, "I would very much."

Matthew nodded waiting for Garrett to open the door. Rolling out he called, "I shall have her send you a more formal invitation. And we shall look forward to your presence."

"Ah the pleasure shall be mine." Garrett replied watching Matthew roll down the corridor and from sight. Only when Matthew was out of sight did he walk back into the room, close the door, cross the room and pour himself another drink, consuming it hungrily.

**.~.~.~.~.**

Cracking the door Thomas peered out glancing right and left. Convinced the hall was empty he stepped out whispering behind him, "Wait a minute."

Walking down the hall he unconsciously patted down his tie ensuring it was perfectly aligned. "Thomas," A voice summoned him in enigmatic tones.

He turned nervously feeling an odd desire to reach for a gun he no longer carried, "Yes…" Even to his own ears his voice sounded high pitched. "Oh Mr. Crawley," He greeted shifting into a more casual timber. "I didn't know you were waiting."

Matthew's lips elevated into a smirk. "I think not."

"Oh Matthew," A female voice called causing both to turn toward it. "I'm so sorry," Sybil apologized hurrying down the hall. "I didn't know you were waiting."

Patrick followed close on her heels, his expression uneasy. "I am sorry. It was my fault." He said explaining, "My debridement was a bit more challenging than we expected."

"Yes," Sybil replied blandly. "It took longer than we expected."

"I see," Matthew said resting his hand almost against his lips. "Shall we proceed home?"

Sybil smiled almost gratefully saying, "Please."

"Barrow shall you take the lead?" Matthew asked.

Thomas went slightly red however he replied, "Of course Sir," striding ahead and opening the door so Matthew could roll out into the darkness.

**.~.~.~.~.**

Rubbing circles across her hand and arms Mary studied her reflection. She had placed her vanity in the corner of Matthew's small dressing room. The smallness of the room seemed to narrow her thoughts. Most evenings this was the time she focused on her husband. Truth be told Matthew occupied her thoughts much of the time, but nights particularly so. Tonight, though, her thoughts kept returning to the expectant mother presumably resting just down the hall. Edith dutifully climbed the stairs and went to bed just after dinner. Her doctor insisted on a strict sleeping schedule, and Edith followed it religiously. Left to her own devices Mary had read a Bronte and played Strauss on the gramophone until she decided to retire. Ella helped her into her nightdress before retiring herself. Aside from the reassuring tick tock of the hall clock, the house was frighteningly silent. Rising she tightened the knot on her dressing gown. Without conscious thought she walked to the door creeping down the hall. Like a small child she kept to the middle; the narrow carpet muffling the sound of her steps. Stopping before the door she raised her hand to knock, however she stopped and leaned in listening for sounds. Hearing nothing she slowly pushed the door open. The moonlight shone through the open drapes, illuminating the sight of her sister curled up in a ball sleeping. Mary pushed the door closed, slowly retracing her steps and returning to her dressing room.

**.~.~.~.~.**

Once Thomas had carried Patrick upstairs, Sybil and Patrick were left standing awkwardly and dumbly in the foyer. They had watched Thomas push Matthew inside, taking their time about entering, giving him time to carry Matthew up the stairs. They walked in and Sybil glanced up the staircase. Satisfied that Thomas had Matthew well upstairs, she stepped further into the hall. Patrick followed her, hands stuffed deep in his pockets, studying the tiles beneath his feet with seemingly deep fascination. They had been quiet in the car, as had Matthew all lost in their thoughts. Now standing opposite one another neither could fall back into easy conversation. As little as they had said, it seemed too much making them uneasy in the other's presence.

"Well here we are," Patrick announced feeling a need to say something, even if his words sounded foolish.

"Yes," Sybil agreed pulling her coat about her, more from need of comfort than warmth.

"I am tired," Patrick announced though this was not particularly true.

"So am I." She responded too quickly, her response borne of a need to say something, anything lest she dally and say the wrong thing. Pragmatism would have stilled her tongue, but fear escalated its movement.

"I should probably go up," He admitted gesturing needlessly at the stairs.

Sybil nodded stating, "I am sure Edith is waiting."

He nodded agreeing, "Yes."

Sybil watched him turn away from her climbing the stairs with heavy footsteps. She waited for him to turn back, but his steps were determined and he vanished into the darkness of the upstairs hall. Turning herself she stepped into the morning room without bothering to switch on a light. Despite the dimness of the room she saw the morning paper still located on a coffee table, Mary often kept it out lest Matthew wanted to read it again in the evening. Paging through it she stopped when she saw a page with the large headline, "A Tragedy Never to be Forgotten" after a brief paragraph on the tragedy there were simply row upon row of names conveying the depth of the disaster. Instinctively she glanced down looking for the familiar name….Mr. James Crawley…. She sighed quietly; James was far from her favorite relation, but to be struck down in such a horrible way… Almost as an afterthought though she glanced down noticing two names she had never before noticed, that she must have missed entirely in all the previous coverage. Funny to that no one had commented… For beneath James' name were two additional Crawleys.

Mr. M. Crawley Miss S. Crawley

Very odd she thought, laying the paper aside, all the while certain that she had never seen other Crawleys on the list.

**.~.~.~.~.**

A single silhouetted beam of lamp light illuminated his path as Matthew rolled himself into their bedroom. Thomas had engineered him a night chair much like the one he'd utilized at Downton, a discarded dining room chair with small low wheels that he could maneuver next to the mattress. Despite the wheels being lower the chair was high enough to rest just beside the mattress so he could use his arms and maneuver into bed under his own power. He used the device on nights such as this when Mary was already in bed, so that Thomas did not have to enter their room. Yawning Mary pushed back the blankets on his side, keeping an eye on his slow slide onto the mattress. At last he flopped rather ungraciously atop the mattress sighing loudly, feeling utterly spent. "I'll just rest a moment," He promised recognizing the fatigue in his own voice. "I used to storm across the field." He said the memories of those years somehow juxtaposed with his current limitations.

He felt Mary's hand closing around his, "Shall I help you?"

"I suppose you must." He admitted putting his hands atop the mattress and moving up toward the headboard, dragging his unfeeling legs along. The energy spent in moving his entire body with only his trunk and arms always surprised him and Matthew was glad enough to flop down against the pillow, taking several deep breaths. May pulled the covers up tucking them around his waist, allowing him to tug them further or not entirely as he wished. Feeling his fatigue lessen if only slightly Matthew said,"Thank you."

Mary merely smiled asking, "Wherever were you?"

Reveling in the comfort of the pillow and his own bed Matthew said, "I had a late case and Sybil had an even later procedure."

"You could have sent the car around later for her."

"I had a Scotch with Dr. Garrett."

"Well," Mary said sounding a bit bemused, "If you prefer his company to mine."

Matthew chuckled retorting, "You know I don't, but it seems to me we ought to know this creature Sybil spends most of her time with."

"I hear he's quite heroic and rather dashing, in a working class way." She said sounding both interested and yet oddly dismissive.

"He's… different." Matthew said yawning and reaching for the switch on the lamp. Extinguishing the light he felt Mary sliding closer and resting her head across his heart. "I invited him to have dinner with us Friday."

Mary lifted her head drowsily proclaiming, "The Duke is coming with Sophie that evening."

Matthew lightly ran his hand over her shoulder saying, "Well that will be interesting then." Mary merely groaned even as she rested her head against his chest snuggling against him with evident pleasure.

**.~.~.~.~.**

As the car glided across the night time streets, Robert bumped his hand up and down against the hand rest. Seeing Isobel glancing over at him curiously he smiled saying apologetically, "I am sorry…I was lost in thought."

Isobel kept her eyes determinedly facing ahead confessing, "I am afraid that I do not know the precise amount one offers an Earl for his thoughts."

"Not very much, "He confessed emitting a low unamused chuckle, "At least not this evening."

Frowning Isobel turned back what was to her the only area of concern, "I thought you said you believed their marriage sound."

"Oh I do," He said pausing before adding, "I suppose it's only the situation is very complex and makes me feel a bit older than I like."

Isobel chuckled a softer easier sound than his had been, "Having grown up married children does render us a bit older."

Robert did not reply instead looking mildly aggrieved by her comments. As a result Isobel was glad to feel the car slowing, and the Red Cross building coming into sight.

"Robert," She said seeing him moving to rise when the car stopped, "My door is only a matter of steps away, you need not escort me."

Robert's lips drifted upwards as he requested, "Do allow me some small moments of chivalry."

Isobel dipped her head in acquiescence allowing him to exit first and extend his hand to assist her. "Thank you."

He merely nodded falling in to step with her as they approached her building. As she reached for the door she turned planning to bid him goodnight. However, before she could speak he spoke saying, "I wonder why you didn't telephone me with your concerns." As if anticipating her response he interjected, "You and my mother are hardly the closest of friends and you must know that no one is more invested in my daughter and son-in-law's happiness."

"I do know that." Isobel agreed warmly. "And I know very well how much you have done for my son." She waited a moment before explaining, "I suppose I did not want to create any awkwardness between us."

"Whatever could be awkward?"

He asked his question with such guilelessness that it touched Isobel causing her to respond pragmatically, "I only thought…I suppose I did not wish to anger Cora."

The weight of her words seemed to cause a moment of clarity and Robert sighed slightly. "I think at this juncture that may be inevitable."

"It was never my wish to cause that…"

"Yet it was her wish to cause anger and hurt." Robert spoke clearly and thoughtfully and Isobel wondered how long such musings had occurred to him for there was nothing spontaneous in his words. "We must all of us live with the effects of our actions."

"Do be kind to her," Isobel implored softly.

Robert looked at her surprise evident in his tone as he demanded, "Why do you ask that?"

"Because I am a mother too, I know the pain of realizing your dreams for your child are not to be."

Robert watched her for a moment, studying her with sudden and consuming interest, "I suppose we all must learn that." Robert allowed hesitantly, "But we all must know too that once actions are committed consequences are sure to follow. I fear Cora has felt rather free in action and in words counting on my loyalty."

"As any wife should."

"Any loyal wife," Robert said his voice suddenly cold and decided. "And you can depend on my support in my daughter's marriage…" Almost as a farewell he added cryptically, "You not assume my loyalty will always rest with my wife." Touching his hat with his walking stick Robert turned and walked away disappearing into the fog.

**.~.~.~.~.**


	28. Chapter 28

First off I appreciate every story follower, every PM and every ask I get about AVMA. And I know this story got delayed several times-which I do apologize for... In this chapter I decided to set all the events within the confines of Grantham House during a dinner party-well one scene is in a car shrugs. So this chapter is quite different in tone and focus. Feedback will be cherished.

**.~.~.~.~.**

"So darling what is to be," Mary queried turning toward Matthew with a playful smile lifting both hands dangling a tiny gem from each, "Pearls or rubies?"

Matthew glanced up from the newspaper he'd been half reading. A lazy smile spreading across his face as he speculated, "Well," He began seemingly warming to the question, "With your mania for red I presume you would select the rubies."

"Mania," Mary clucked with faux disdain. Drawing herself she added pretending to be irritated, "I simply find the color highlights my skin."

"Indeed it does," Matthew granted smiling at her appreciatively.

He had of late taken to sitting in her room while… oh she could not remember the new girl's name, finished her hair. Each evening she'd hear a firm knock followed by, "Would you mind a bit of company?" She had not minded. Not in the least.

"Still," He offered decidedly having given the matter some consideration, "I do believe the pearls will look especially lovely alongside the dark blue of your dress."

Mary glanced down at her gown smiling in agreement, "I believe you are correct." His only answer was a smile as he returned to reading an article on Satyagraha

"Sybil's employer is coming tonight." Mary said oddly eager to regain his attention.

"The good Dr. Garrett," Matthew agreed still focusing on the article he was reading.

"I do hope he can handle his forks." She said smiling at her reflection in the mirror, seemingly pleased by her own witticism.

"You do know he has been invited to lunch at the palace."

Mary rolled her eyes, "The standards are slipping. Virtually anyone can wangle an invitation now."

"And I suppose you disagree with that."

"I do not actually," Mary answered screwing her earring in while watching her husband's reflection, "And from all I've read he seems a quite admirable chap." She said opting for a term Matthew favored. "That does not mean, however I favor my sister making a match with him."

Matthew lowered his newspaper inquiring, "Has Sybil spoken of him in that way?"

"Not precisely," Mary admitted shrugging resignedly. "But of course it's a possibility. A probability one might imagine."

Matthew took in her words grinning and suggesting, "Well perhaps he might push in…"

"Amusing," Mary stated bemusedly, seeming anything but... "I simply want to get a sense of the man before he…before he…"

"Drags her into the middle class with her elder sister," Matthew teased chuckling.

Chuckling Mary turned facing her husband teasing, "The upper middle class Mr. Crawley."

Matthew grinned at his wife before returning to his newspaper.

**.~.~.~.~.**

Tugging his sleeve down with an angry jerk the Duke spat out;"I will have to find another man. Johnson simply cannot keep my cuffs properly straight."

Seated beside him in the car Sophie struggled to remain silent. Since their arrival at their London address her husband had done little but bicker about trivialities. An unplumbed pillow, a mislaid shirt, any little thing seemed to provoke atypical anger. Typically a placid sort, since arriving in the city the Duke's personality seemed to have undergone some type of metamorphosis. Typically a secure man filled with personal conviction and a sense of rightness and place, his entire personality seemed changed almost from the moment he stepped off the platform at King's Cross. Even now half way to Grantham House, he'd already snapped at the driver no less than four times.

Unable to find the most correct words to understand his state Sophie herself delved into blandness observing, "You seem more concerned with your dress than usual…"

"I merely wish to be properly attired." He barked testily once again pulling on his cuff.

"Of course," She muttered softly. "Only normally you do not seem this concerned about your dress." He huffed irritably, but did not wholly reject the comment. She took this as a kind of opening to offer her own thoughts. "I wonder," She said hesitating only a moment before asking, "Are you nervous about seeing your friend?" The Duke's silence could be interpreted as acquiescence causing her to press, "I am sure you should not…"

"Don't," He demanded firmly, an atypical coldness evident in his words. "Don't." The tone of his voice muted her causing Sophie to stare determinedly forward the remainder of the journey.

**.~.~.~.~.**

Descending the stairs, Edith closed the clasp on her bracelet as she walked toward the drawing room. Reaching the room she stopped short at the sight of Patrick standing with a glass pressed against his lips; "Isn't it early for a drink?"

"That's an outdated notion." He retorted returning the glass to the side table. "Cocktails before dinner are very common."

"I wasn't aware you made a study of the subject."

Patrick studied her for a moment but his only response was to lift his glass and take another drink. "I would imagine," He said at length, "There is a very great deal about such matters of which you are not aware."

Several shades of emotion seemed to cross Edith's face however she only said, "Yes I know that … now…" There was a sort of resignation to her tone and she dropped down into her chair as if physically spent.

In spite of his still churning anger Patrick rushed over to her side asking, "Are you unwell…"

Drawing in a deep breath Edith confessed, "I only need a moment." Continuing the pattern of deep inhalations she requested, "Could you fetch me a glass of water?"

"Of course, of course," Patrick agreed rising and hurrying down the hall.

"It's alright now," Edith spoke aloud as if wanting to reassure herself.

**.~.~.~.~.**

Edwards strode into the dining room guiding the footman borrowed for the evening. Lady Rosamund had sent the young man over earlier today, and Edwards was of the opinion she had select the very dullest of the lot. As such, Edwards had spent a large part of the afternoon tutoring the boy in the basic niceties of service. Still the boy did try his best and Edwards felt well satisfied service wouldn't be a complete disaster. "Remember slow…" He said prompting the lad/

"And steady," The boy answered. "Ask before you pour. And they serve 'emselves."

"Themselves," Henderson gently corrected. The boy nodded agreeably.

"All ready in here?" Thomas asked strolling grinning.

"Yes sir." The boy eagerly replied casting a quick glance downwards, before lifting his head and smiling a bit bashfully.

"Very nearly," Edwards stated firmly. "Are you prepared for your role?"

Thomas waved his hand as if dismissing the entire issue, "Oh yes help with the coats and Mr. Crawley."

"Isn't that outside your job," The boy interrupted. "I mean you being a valet."

"We're a small staff," Edwards intoned. "It would not do to stand on formalities."

And I'm hardly simply a valet," Thomas explained saying hurriedly; "Mr. Crawly has been very good to me. Letting me have…lots of experiences."

"You must like 'at." He said adding. "Lots of experiences eh?"

Thomas smiled back but Edwards frowned saying, "Let us prepare the wine I anticipate our guests will begin arriving soon." Edwards guided the boy toward the pantry, scowling at Thomas as he passed. Thomas merely dipped to sniff the floral arrangement in the centerpiece before smiling and whistling as he followed them into the pantry.

**.~.~.~.~.**

"Lady Mary," Sophie cried leaning forward and brushing her lips against Mary's cheek in greeting. "How wonderful it is to see you again."

"And you as well," Mary agreed glancing downward she said, "You remember my husband Matthew Crawley."

"Oh the solicitor!" Sophie cried delightedly.

"Barrister now," He said taking her hand and surprised when she dipped down to kiss his cheek as well.

"Yes," She agreed querying "Does this mean you talk to criminals as well? How exciting."

Unsure exactly how to reply to such a statement Matthew opted to respond, "Yes."

Her eyes brightened as she exclaimed, "You must tell me all about that."

"Darling," The Duke chided teasingly, "I'm sure Mr. Crawley does not want to discuss his occupation. We wouldn't want to bore him or ourselves with such chatter would we Mr. Crawley?"

Matthew's tone was tight and his smile extremely forced as he replied, "We would not."

The Duke nodded approvingly saying, "You see my dear I keep telling you working men have little real interest in their occupation." He chuckled admitting, "My wife agrees with some of my bankers that I should pursue a profession. A ridiculous idea don't you agree," He swung his head smiling and saying, "Lady Mary?"

"Oh I don't know," Mary replied flippantly as if having given the issue little thought. "I find my husband's occupation of increasing interest."

"Well yes of course," The Duke said sounding slightly deflated. "Excuse me I believe I see your lovely younger sister." He nodded before crossing the room and greet Sybil, Sophie followed behind him.

Glancing up at his wife Matthew exchanged a conspiratorial smile with her.

**.~.~.~.~.**

Rising onto the final step, Garrett reached for his tie patting it down as if uncertain of its placement. Old habits die hard and his mam had schooled him to always check that his tie was arranged properly. Straight ties, clean nails and polished boots were to her the signs of a well-bred Scotsman, and she worked to turn each of her five sons into well-bred men. Still, her hopes had been modest. She'd envisioned her lads working in a nice clean factory or a fish shop. Da expected his boys to follow him into the mines, even as lungs grew weaker. His four brothers had all marched into the mine. Garrett though had dreamed bigger and through a series of happenstances he still could not quite fathom, he had found himself in school, then university and finally medical school, and here he was about to attend a fancy high society dinner. What precisely mam might think of his journey he was less sure. She seemed wedded to the old village as if she could not live a day of her life without the stench and smell of coal dust filling her lungs. She'd rejected three offers to come to London, his relief increasing with each rejection. Sara Garrett was suited to cleaning windows that were forever coloring black from coal dust. He could not envision her in his present world. Shaking his head he tried to cast off the old doubts. Best not to think of such things on a night like tonight, he reminded himself. From the little he'd gleaned from Sybil, he'd best keep his wits about him the better to handle the endless cutlery and the supposed archness of the aristocracy. His tie was straight, his nails clean and his shoes shining… The rest would depend on his brains and he could only hope for the best. Stepping forward he pressed the bell then stepped back waiting to be ushered inside.

**.~.~.~.~.**

If she had learned nothing else Mary had realized city parties ran at their own tempo. A dinner at Downton remained largely a closed affair. The guests were either neighbors, which could be dreary, or houseguests, which could be positively nightmarish, but either way the parties would arrive relatively close in time. London gatherings were an entirely different matter. Some guests would arrive early, some late, and some would stumble in well after dinner was served. Owing to this hosting such gatherings required certain flexibility. One had to placate one guest with welcome; while half-hoping the next guest would soon arrive lest conversation or the truffles grew stale. Thus far, this evening, things seemed to be progressing smoothly. The Duke and Sophie were ensconced in the drawing room, Matthew was conversing with Patrick, Edith looked pensive still that was hardly unusual. In spite of this, Mary kept a wary eye on the door anticipating whatever was to come.

Across the room Patrick looked appreciatively at his cousin declaring, "Mary always looks slightly militaristic at these gatherings."

Matthew smiled saying, "I've no doubt she could command a from the little she tells me I do think these events must require a comparable skill."

"Indeed," Patrick said casting a nervous glance across the room. The Duke was seemingly deeply engaged in conversation with Sybil, just as he'd been deeply engaged in comparable conversations with every other person in the room save Patrick.

Matthew glanced up at Patrick inquiring, "Is everything alright?"

"Perfectly fine, perfectly fine," Patrick assured him striving for a tone suggesting more conviction than he felt.

** .~.~.~.~. **

"So you are the good Dr. Garrett my sister speaks of so frequently." Mary remarked mere moments later.

"I fear I am." He agreed not disguising the slightest of smirks.

Seeming to mirror his mood Mary smiled revealing, "I half expected a halo to be attached to your head, what with the praise so often bestowed upon you."

"I detach it for social occasions." He explained in a jaunty tone.

"A clever trick," Mary complimented watching her sister pushing Matthew in their direction.

Garrett extended his hand to Matthew greeting him, "How nice to see you again."

"It is nice to be seen."

"Mary," Sybil said cheerfully, "I'd like to introduce Dr. Garrett to the Duke and Duchess."

Mary dipped her head granting, "Of course." Once they crossed the room Mary lowered herself whispering to her husband, "I suppose he will be the belle of our dinner party ball."

"Perhaps," Matthew agreed cryptically causing Mary to study him with opening curiousity.

**.~.~.~.~.**

Tapping his walking stick on the pavement Sir Richard Carlisle smiled at the notion of his own dapperness. He was not a dandy, indeed far from it. He was not far enough removed from the mills to feign elegance. Still, he to his own mind cut a fine form in tails and the stick added a dash of style. All in all he considered himself a fine figure. Extending his arm he smiled at his companion.

"I am not certain this is the best idea," She admitted with a mere smidgen of doubt.

"Of course it is," He replied reassuring her by striding forward and pressing the bell.

In moments he was following the butler down the hall and being announced as, "Sir Richard Carlisle and Lady Rosamund Painswick."

"Lady Mary," Richard cheerfully observed, "You seem surprised to see me."

"Yes," Mary agreed her words coming out tightly, as if anger had coiled the syllables. "Surprise is one word for it."

**.~.~.~.~.**

Patrick sipped on his second scotch watching the goings on across the room inquiring with minimal interest, "I presume Sir Richard was not expected."

"Certainly not," Matthew answered coldly keeping the keenest focus on the press baron.

"I wonder what he wants?" Patrick mused vaguely less of curiosity than politeness.

"I am certain he will soon reveal his intent," Matthew replied forcing a more congenial tone. "Sir Richard is not one for keeping his motives mysterious."

"Yes," Patrick agreed glancing across the room at the Duke and Sophie.

**.~.~.~.~.**

"You do intend to speak to Mr. Crawley." Sophie implored her husband in an urgent, unhappy tone.

"I did speak to him." The Duke agreed smiling.

"I meant Mr. Patrick Crawley." She said needlessly. She felt quite certain that her husband knew precisely who she had referred to and found his feigned ignorance galling. Refusing to give him room for further evasion she insisted, "You must speak to him dearest. It's too embarrassing. You must do it musn't you?" The fact she phrased her words as a question, conveyed the depth of her uncertainty. In the relatively short time of their marriage she had come to depend on the certainty of his manners. Whatever else might be said, the Duke observed, bent even before the rituals and formalities of etiquette. So often he teased her saying an American could not understand proper behavior. Unsaid amidst his teasing was a solid belief that he eternally understood manners and mores. Yet, tonight she found his behaviors awkward and wrong. Sophie could not say so, of course she could not. He would deem her stupid and of course she was. And she did not understand British ways… Still she was certain he must… "Musn't you?"

He turned his gaze near murderous saying, "Of course I will. I already did."

"Of course," She agreed softly adding hesitantly, "Only you merely said hello and walked off."

"And what would you have me say?" He asked coldly. "The British are a reserved group, we do not embrace American emotionalism."

Dropping her head Sophie murmured, "Of course not… Only you only said hello."

"We will talk more later, perhaps after dinner." He suggested calling to the approaching figure, "Good evening Edith. Will you excuse me for a moment?" Edith merely nodded and the Duke glided across the room.

Watching him Sophie sighed trying to still her trembling lip. "Sophie," Edith entreated softly. "Are you alright?"

Sophia looked up surprised by Edith's question. She hoped, prayed even that the girl had not overheard their conversation. Sophia forced a smile saying, "Of course." The butler's announcement of dinner spared Sophie from further dishonestly. "I'm fine," She promised crossing the room and taking her husband's arm.

**.~.~.~.~.**

The dining room table usually so large, rarely if ever even half-filled, seemed a different thing with every chair occupied. Mary seated as she usually was at the head of her table had seated Richard and Rosamund at the farthest end of the table. Richard seeming to find this placement amusing leaned to Rosamund whispering, "I think your niece wishes there was table in the kitchen she could seat us at."

"I can hardly blame her," Rosamund whispered casting a nervous glance at the head of the table. The expression she saw there did little to reassure her, and for the next course she was very careful not to meet Mary's eyes.

**.~.~.~.~.**

Sybil watched as the footman cleared away the soup course feeling a surprising relief when Garrett relinquished his spoon. For all her talk of liberalism and modernism and change, Sybil retained a nearly paralyzing fear that Garrett might not know the proper etiquette. She knew Mary at her very nicest would still seize upon such moments using them for her own purposes. And Sybil knew the sting of such attacks. So she was equally relieved and impressed that Garrett seemed at ease. Whatever his origins he was accustomed to the behaviors of the upper class.

Sensing her mood Garrett said, "As you see I can manage my utensils."

"Oh," Sybil giggled nervously. "I wasn't nervous about that."

"Weren't you?" He challenged lightly.

Sybil was about to reply when she saw Patrick staring at them. Turning away from his gaze she laughed purposefully as if greatly entertained by Garrett's presence. A cheap trick she knew but really what could one do?

**.~.~.~.~.**

Turning his head in the opposite direction Patrick took a gulp of his wine causing Rosamund to lean over asking, "Are you quite alright?"

Patrick took a moment before answering, "Yes…something just got caught in my throat." He smiled determinedly promising, "I'll be fine now.

**.~.~.~.~.**

The more London events Mary attended the more she began to rethink her views of country life. Downton could be dull as dirt, but one rarely endured the endless returns of unwelcomed guests. Once papa threw a soul out they generally remained out. The same could not be said of London, where a parade of unwelcome guests seemed determine to troop to her door time and again. She was certain Sir Richard would not darken the door step at Downton again, yet London seemed another matter. Indeed, Sir Richard seemed to pop up with increasing frequency at their London address, and that seemed unlikely to change. Truth be known she was beginning to think that if a novel was crafted out of her life, Sir Richard Carlisle would appear every second or third chapter. She could envision them graying in the midst of enduring endless dinners and social engagements. Such thoughts made her chewing particularly savage. "Careful," Matthew cautioned reaching across her lap, clasping her free hand under the table. "One might imagine you are a bit unsettled tonight."

"I cannot imagine why." She remarked reaching for her wine glass with her free hand.

He leaned closer, so close that his lips nearly rested atop her earlobe. "Smile and chuckle as if I've said something amusing." Mary turned facing him with a bewildered expression; his expression however remained placid urging, "Trust me."

Quite against her impulses Mary felt her lips lifting and heard herself chuckling softly.

"Is something amusing," Rosamund inquired interestedly. "I do like to be amused."

"I was just amusing my wife with an antidote about my day."

"Is the law profession amusing?" Richard questioned spearing a small carrot with his fork.

"At times," Matthew replied mirroring Richard's actions. "As I assume journalism must be."

Richard chewed his carrot thoroughly working the vegetable around. Lifting his glass he took a sip of the wine, he did not favor white wine, before saying, "It has its moments."

Matthew nodded his head inquiring, "And Dr. Garrett is medicine the same?"

"I suppose the socially acceptable answer would be of course," Garrett admitted setting his fork aside. "Yet in my experience there are precious few moments of mirth."

"I feel if you cannot laugh then what is the purpose of going on?" The Duke proposed concluding his sentence with a light laugh and a very satisfied smile.

"What a ridiculous notion," Garrett rejoined with ill-disguised disdain. "There are a great many deeds in this life more important than laughing."

"Still," Matthew stated evenly, "One must find humor in life. Otherwise it is difficult to continue on."

"I suppose some men must do so," Garrett acknowledged, "It is not to my taste. To have a serious vocation one must treat it seriously."

"As a businessman I treat my business seriously, but as a Crawley once told me life is a business in which the player must look ridiculous." Richard confessed toying with his fork.

Rosamund chuckled slicing into her duck admitting, "I am afraid Mama is quite correct on that front."

Garrett smiled and his tone was amicable, and yet he confessed evenly, "I must admit I do not see it."

"What then do you see?" Sophie asked interestedly. She had been polite but determinedly mute prior to this moment so her interest caused the other's heads to turn in her direction.

Patrick nearly groaned stating, "Sophie that is not…"

"It is perfectly alright," Garrett assured him. Clearing his throat as if preparing to announce a diagnosis he continued, "With respect to my companions I simply cannot comprehend how one can make mirth when the business of life is so very serious."

"How can one not?" Rosamund challenged with surprising firmness. "I cannot pretend to know a great deal of medicine; however I assumed one needed a degree of levity to endure the tasks involved."

"One might assume so," Garrett agreed adding, "But I find it an unnecessary escape." He leaned back pronouncing, "I believe a man must face up to the seriousness of the time and work to change and improve it."

"So you mean to effect changes?" Richard inquired pointedly.

"Myself no, but I believe the times will affect change." Seeming to feel a need to explain himself, he continued, "These, I believe, are times of change and we cannot remain unchanged while living amidst them." Seeming to fear he had said to much he looked up nervously, but he found the expressions facing him reflective, and unlikely to object to his words.

** .~.~.~.~.**

For her part Mary could claim little introspection of Garrett's words. Indeed, only a small portion of the evenings' conversation had interested her. Instead she had been mulling over just how much she was coming to detest playing hostess. The thought of hosting dinners once so enticing now seemed numbing as if a succession of evenings would pass in a haze…as unimportant as they were unremembered. The idea of sitting for decades biting back the barbed remarks, plastering on a false smile, hanging on her guests every dull utterance, chilled her and she reached for her wine taking a sip to fortify herself.

Mary felt the conversation around her slurring, becoming almost incomprehensible as she drifted ever further into her own thoughts. So much of her life had been about eventualities. One day she would marry a man of position. One day she would run a household. One day she would host dinners and attend society galas. One day, one day, one day… Her life had been building, cresting toward a series of inevitable days when she would take on the mantle of society wife, event planner, dinner guest…. The Triple Crown as it were that she must endeavor to achieve, was expected to achieve. Every decision Cora made had been to raise her girls toward that future. Every choice she had made was judged against that future. And now she had achieved it…well very nearly achieved it and yet she saw little pleasure ahead.

Oh she would be a happy wife. Matthew's mere company even in his grumpiest state ensured that eventually. But the dinners, society and the ilk… she felt less sure about finding any satisfaction in those spheres. More than that she wondered about her mother's efforts to help her achieve this pedestal…. that was what the great effort was to achieve? This was what Cora had planned and schemed and manipulated to attain for her daughters? A life with little stimulation beyond planning menus and arranging guest lists… Was that, she pondered, what rendered her own mother by turns manipulative and neurasthenic. Did the need to eternally organize slowly meld into a learned passivity, a willingness to let everyone else organize while you sat blankly nearby occupying a chair? Did the hyper planning and razor sharp focus of youth slowly fade into utter exhaustion by middle age? Was it to be her lot in life to venture out of one waiting room only to vanish even more completely into another? The dullness of even the idea caused Mary to reach again for her wine, taking a second restorative gulp. Looking over the glass Mary noted the slightest elevation of her husband's brow, an unasked question being posed in the gesture. Eager to offset any uncomfortable questions, she forced a smile hoping her actions would delude him. She felt her smile flag at the realization that Cora had taught her the skill, teaching her to lie with the greatest of ease.

** .~.~.~.~.**

Lightly touching the tong of his fork atop the pile of potatoes littering his plate, Matthew felt a sluggishness that made it difficult to absorb the goings on around him. He had spent much of the day in court handling a divorce case with Peter Simon. A bit tawdry but fascinating…. In comparison the dinner chatter felt dull. If it were only he and Mary, then he could share an account of his day complete with lurid details from his case. She would blush, roll her eyes and feign disdain at his words. He would dramatize the events making them more risqué leading Mary to amplify her responses accordingly. On their own they'd developed a rhythm shared only between themselves, enacting routines only they understood. Casting a glance across the table, Matthew saw that Mary was like him lost in thought. He had come to know her expressions better than his own, had begun to recognize her moods, perhaps understand her at least a little.

The set of her jaw, the slightly pensive expression on her face told him that she was lost in her thoughts. What precisely she was thinking though he was not certain. Of course he could not ask her in this company, such questions would have to wait until later when they were alone. Perhaps later in bed, in the darkness when it was just the two of them… perhaps then she might reveal more. Till then he was left to wonder, he had found that he liked wondering, liked the challenge of understanding this woman. He could not voice this conviction however. She was a woman who liked her secrets, keeping them close around her like a protective covering. So it was best to keep his thoughts wholly to himself. Mary would confide or not confide to him as her mood dictated, but she would despise being watched much less realizing that he had uncovered her mood. Therefore, a type of anxiousness seized him and to disguise his concern Matthew began picking at his food before turning instead to focus on Sybil and Garrett's burgeoning interaction.

** .~.~.~.~.**

Seconds beforehand the borrowed footman had approached Sybil with the platter of duck, visibly recoiling the waved her hand dismissing the platter exclaiming,"No meat for me thank you." Her final words hinted at dismissiveness rather than actual gratitude.

"You are not on one of those terrible diets I hope?" Rosamund questioned between bites of duck. "Everyone puts on a smidgen of weight now and again, it's certainly not unbecoming."

"I haven't gained any weight," Sybil protested with a slightly gaping mouth.

"Oh my mistake." Rosamund giggled as if amused by her own misstep.

Lifting his water glass Matthew took a sip to cover up sounds that did not precisely sound like coughs. Mary's head bobbed up clearly reentering the discussion. The other guests seemed equally fascinated and increasingly amused.

Sybil looked around curiously before asking, "Are you interested in why I'm not eating duck, other than as a weight control issue?" She did little to disguise the pique evident in her tone though she offered a friendly smile, as if eager to share the information.

"Not particularly," Rosamund admitted seemingly already bored with the topic.

Placing his fork on the plate Garrett prodded her asking, "Why are you not eating duck?" Mary sighed pressing her fingers against her temple, whereas Matthew sat forward and Edith tried with increasing difficulty to keep her expression neutral.

Sybil smiled gratefully at him stating, "I am becoming a vegetarian."

"A vetta what?" Sophie asked curiously causing the Duke to scowl at her.

"A vegetarian, "Sybil announced with barely disguised pride.

Even as she spoke Matthew and Edith glanced at each other which was most likely a mistake for both promptly began giggling. For her part, Mary merely rolled her eyes at her sister's words.

"Whatever is that?" Sophie questioned studying Sybil with the keenest of interest. The Duke frowned but kept determinedly silent.

Sybil determinedly ignored the negative expressions saying enthusiastically, "A vegetarian is a man or woman who refuses to eat the meat of animals merely for their own sustenance."

"You don't eat meat at all?" The Duke demanded his brow furrowing slightly. "I cannot imagine such a thing." He shook his head eager to reject such an idea.

"Why?" Garrett asked. Seeing Sybil turn in surprise he expanded his question adding, "The impulse is lovely certainly, end killing and death etc." He said gesturing his fingers in a circular pattern as if crafting a closed connection he visualized. "But at its heart I do wonder why?"

"Because," Sybil faltered clearly searching for an explanation. Finally she barked out, "I want to end death and suffering."

Garrett nodded stating, "The sentiment is admirable." His tone so frosty as to dismiss her entire statement.

Mary signaled the footman whispering urgently. "Dessert now."

"No one is finished eating." He said confusedly. Edwards had been quite clear that he was not to clear until the majority of the guests were finished.

"Now." Mary insisted urgently.

**.~.~.~.~.**

Just beyond the staff door Thomas was swallowing gales of laughter at the goings on in the dining room. Edwards watched him shaking his head saying, "I am puzzled by your glee."

"I'm having a laugh." Thomas said defensively slightly affronted at the question.

Edwards studied him for a moment before returning his attention to the dining room.

**.~.~.~.~.**

The next quarter of an hour was among the most prolonged time of Mary's life. Even Edith's six year old piano recital had seemed paradise compared to this evening. The stilted conversation, the fact half the table was coughing like residents of a sanatorium to try and cover up their bemusement seemed bad still Sybil held her head aloft with a expression not unlike the French Catholic priests who went to martyr themselves in the New whole thing was so very, very irritating, and she had to withhold a cry of relief when the last spoon dropped down atop the pudding.

After only a moment's delay Mary rose inquiring, "Ladies shall we?" At her words the men rose to their feet. Mary glanced over at her husband recognizing that he was purposefully looking down at his plate as if fascinated by the arrangement of fruit. She gave his shoulder a small squeeze before turning and exiting the room ahead of her guests.

"Well," Rosamund tittered following her niece down the long passage, "It has been a rather quiet evening so far."

Mary merely turned her head a near murderous expression crossing her face.

**.~.~.~.~.**

The men were sinking back into their chairs when the footman strolled in with a tray laden with a bottle of Scotch and a cigar box. Falling into the routines of post dinner etiquette Richard gestured for the tray to be brought to him. The tray was duly lowered and Richard inhaled the scent of the tobacco letting it waft up into his nostrils. Resting his head back against the cushion of the chair Richard waited for the man to light his cigar. Through the plume of smoke he watched the Duke follow the same rituals, while watching Patrick and Matthew averting their gaze, silently signaling their lack of interest. For his part Garrett loudly refused explaining, "Nicotine I believe will be proven in time to be a very dangerous drug as well as an addictive product that has enslaved millions." Richard accidently, of course, blew his plume of smoke in Garrett's direction and noticed the act caused Matthew's lips to quirk upwards.

**.~.~.~.~.**

Guiding the ladies down the hall Mary asked, "Shall we have tea or in favor of our American guest coffee?"

"Oh coffee please," Rosamund requested saying in a cheerful tone, "I always enjoy overturning tradition."

"Oh you are quite gifted at overturning tradition," Mary seethed yet any pleasure she could have taken in the taunt was obliterated by Rosamund's cheery laugh and clear obliviousness to her criticism. Sighing she hoped Matthew would not remain too long in the dining room.

**.~.~.~.~.**

"It's a very different world now," Sir Richard vowed taking a seat and continuing to pontificate on a theme he seemed increasingly interested in. "The aristocracy will have to adapt or perish." He paused only a moment before saying, "I expect many will fall on their swords rather than alter the old notions."

"Sir Richard I must disagree with you," The Duke responded disdainfully. "I believe that once these reverberations settle the old ways shall return. Much ink is spilled promoting the demise of the old ways, however this country's strength comes from honoring those very ways."

"In the past perhaps but the world of finance is wholly different from even five years ago. The days of huge estates is coming to an end and rather sooner than I believe the aristocracy expects."

"I don't expect things will change that much." The Duke argued stubbornly. "Wars cause temporary alterations before the country returns to the status quo." He smiled confiding, "My own father returned from the Boer convinced we'd give up colonization." He laughed bemusedly. "Wars do strange things to men's social conscience."

"I forget," Matthew interjected asking, "Where did you serve during the war?"

The question was rhetorical and belittling causing the Duke to sputter, "My health was wanting at the time but I stayed keenly abreast of the situation."

"Indeed," Matthew agreed coldly.

"Being in America gave me a different perspective," The Duke countered seeming to regain some of his spirit. "The atmosphere there is more modern, it's the direction I think Britain will move toward. Modernity with respect for class and traditions."

"Interesting perspective," Richard granted returning his glass to the table. "I don't entirely agree however. America has little time or interest in the class system… And I don't expect the old millionaires to be leading the new era. America thrives on change and evolution, a new breed eternally rising up to replace the old one."

"You sound quite enamored of the nation," Matthew replied coolly. "One is surprised you do not relocate to their shores."

Richard shook his head, "No I am a born Scotsman, I cannot imagine a life beyond these shores. Still I can respect a nation more eager to embrace progress than our own."

"You think us unwilling to accept progress." Garrett asked interestedly, turning the conversation to his own experience he stated, "I myself see advances in medicine and science that suggest otherwise."

"Perhaps, perhaps," Richard agreed nodding his head in time with his thoughts. "We should always embrace medicine and science. But our politics and our social classes I fear are not to face the same speedy progress."

Patrick looked up saying, "What then do you expect of us?" He had said little all evening and his words caused the men to turn in his direction.

Richard turned facing him stating, "Little precious little."

Scowling the Duke said, "And what would you have us do? Shut our houses; toss the people who depend upon us out onto the street. Is that the bright future you envision?"

Hardly Richard said dragging his finger along the top of the glass, "But you will have to find a way to make the estates profitable."

"How?" Patrick asked seeming genuinely engaged in the discussion.

Richard paused for a moment before admitting, "That I do not know. I suppose that is for your lot to decide. Agriculture or livestock I suppose, creating tenants who create a profit for you." He spoke without a clear plan but as always with a surplus of ideas.

"Is that how you see us mucking out pigs stalls?" The Duke demanded obviously rankled at the notion.

Richard's lips quirked upwards and he said in the driest of tones. "I find it interesting the only way you can imagine incorporating livestock is by mucking the stalls yourself." He paused lifting his glass before concluding, "The lack of imagination in the aristocracy will forever astound me."

**.~.~.~.~.**

Dragging her spoon around the cup Rosamund watched the tea fading from black to chocolaty brown as she asked Sophie, "How do you find married life?"

Sophie's mouth drooped a bit apparently startled by the question. She recovered quickly though answering, "Compared to Edith I am an old married woman, she would have far more to share as a newlywed than I do."

"Edith is family we can inquire about her life any time," Rosamund dismissed in a light tone suggesting but not quite reaching mirth. "Do tell us how you enjoy marriage."

Sophie contemplated Rosamund with an unreadable expression answering, "Rather like most brides, I imagine."

Fixing her with a small smile Rosamund questioned, "Do most brides feel any way?" Her question was something of a challenge causing her to explain, "I've never known two brides who felt the same about the subject."

Sophie laughed a small sound that did not quite reach merriment declaring, "Perhaps English marriages are more complex then, we Americans simply enjoy ourselves and find pleasure where we can."

"Really," Rosamund replied lifting her cup, "I would think that kind of marriage was quite complex."

** .~.~.~.~.**

The footman dipped his fingers in a finger bowl then touched them to the flame of one of the candles illuminating the table extinguishing the flame. He repeated the process with each candle on each of the candelabras. Patrick watched the process with increasing fatigue. Generally, or as generally as he could remember, at events such as these the men would have a cigar or port, discussing politics or sports for a half hour before rejoining the ladies. Tonight though the rules seemed upended…. Matthew had rolled out of the dining room some time before, Carlisle following not long afterward. Garrett had wandered out telling a footman he had to telephone his clinic. And so the Duke and Patrick were left facing each other in an uneasy intimacy. Not that different Patrick supposed from dozens and dozens of other times. Yet he remembered none of those times and Patrick did not seem very interested in papering over the gaps. The old ways and comforts they had once enjoyed decimated by years of war, and the loss of memory. Even if he had recollections of the past, it would be difficult to get back to a world blown to hell. Without those memories it seemed impossible. Patrick had begun to believe the war had shelled society blasting it and destroying it in ways even Rosamund and Mary and society women of their ilk could never piece together. Even a small thing like a small dinner party seemed so laborious as they talked around everything, hoping not to fall into a trench of past never to be again memories.

Patrick looked up at the Duke who was staring into his cognac, wondering if he felt the same. Was it only his loss of memory, Patrick wondered, that rendered it impossible for him to carry on with these niceties?

The Duke glanced up meeting Patrick's eyes. An eternity seemed to pass before the Duke admitted with a surprising soberness, "I should have come to your wedding."

Patrick considered his hands, folding and unfolding them answering, "I am sure you had your reasons."

"No good ones." He admitted weakly, "Not good enough." He spoke in the nature of one who had held this conversation in his head numerous times.

"It was good of you…sending Sophie."

Lifting his brows Duke admitted, "It was no hardship." Patrick made no response so the Duke added kindly, "I understand you are to be a father."

Patrick looked up offering, "So it seems."

"I suppose that is a bit of a hardship."

"Oh?" Patrick felt they were skirting ever closer to one of the shell holes and one false word might bury them both.

"You were not a fan of infants." The Duke remembered a smile touching his lips, "Squalling beasts you called them."

"Did I?" Patrick asked chucking at the notion, "Perhaps it's good I no longer remember that."

"Yes," The Duke nodded his head agreeing, "It'll make things easier I suppose."

"Perhaps," Patrick agreed uneasily lifting his glass to indicate he wanted another Cognac. "Shall we?" He said offering an invitation he was not entirely certain he desired accepted.

"Let's." The Duke answered.

**.~.~.~.~.**

Feeling the old suffocations of indecision and discomfort, Matthew had pushed himself from the dining room down the back hall, out into the garden. In the trenches he'd read a copy of Lawrence's Peacock and it had struck him deeply-the way nature overrode even the horrors and boredom of war. Nights like tonight he needed the restorative value of the clean chilliness of the spring air, the few visible constellations to revive him.

"Taking solace in the moonlight?" A voice boomed from some feet away.

Matthew turned his head watching Richard approaching him, "Something of that nature I suppose."

Richard observed him for a moment before admitting, "Everyone tells me what a honest, heroic soul you are. Yet, I believe you lie to me almost constantly."

"Never trust a barrister." Matthew parried unwilling to deny the explanation.

Richard studied Matthew for a long moment taking a long draw on his cigar and watching the smoke drift out lazily before him pronouncing, "Every time I see you, you seem a little sadder than before, a little less secure, a little less optimistic."

Matthew seemed about to object but instead sank back against his chair staring at the sky with consuming interest.

**.~.~.~.~.**

The women had taken to cards, holding the aces and jokers in the palm of their hands before offering them out like tiny treasures on Christmas morning. Mary had suggested the game, but declined to participate. She detested cards herself, all the while recognizing it as a canny means to engage the interest of dinner guests. She felt the beginnings of a headache roaring to life behind her eyes. Seeing Sophie rise Mary turned so she could follow her guests movements. She watched as Sophie crossed the room stopping near a guest inquiring, "May I join you?"

Mary watched her sister glancing up with surprise, and far too evident pleasure. "Of course," Edith said breathlessly, "Please."

Mary continued to watch Sophie and Edith's interaction, inching ever closer so as to better follow the conversation. Neither seemed very perceptive and so this subterfuge was a trifle unnecessary still it did help to keep up one's talents. Besides with Matthew ensconced with the cigar smoking men she hardly had a better diversion.

Sophie turned to Edith complimenting, "You look well."

Edith's cheeks flushed and she answered happily, "Thank you,"

Mary rolled her eyes having to bite back at least five pithy remarks lurching to the surface. Really only Edith would be so pleased with the faintest of praise.

"Do you want a boy or girl?"

Edith pretended to consider her answer before replying, "A son would of course please my Papa so much. And of course I know my husband would enjoy a boy so much. Though of course all that matters is that the babe is healthy and happy."

Of course Mary struggled not to reply, bitingly thinking it was the worst kind of nonsense. Papa might not sorrow at a daughter, but he would rejoice at a boy.

"And so soon after your marriage," Sophia said softly. "I was surprised to learn you were with child."

Mary rolled her eyes at the idiocy of a newly married woman getting pregnant. Americans she decided were truly inane.

**.~.~.~.~.**

"I suppose," The Duke said reclining back against his chair, "I shall to have to do that soon…Sire children."

"Oh," Patrick answered.

Without seeming to have heard Patrick's response the Duke continued on stating, "My family expects it. The line must be secure." He emitted a hard small chuckle before reaching for his glass and taking a generous gulp of Cognac. "Family….burden… it is all the same, I suppose."

"Yes." Patrick echoed the words soullessly.

"One hopes that the tug of paternal affection might take." The Duke said sounding unoptimistic about the likelihood of such an occurrence. Turning his head he faced Patrick asking, "Do you remember him?"

"Your father, no."

"I meant your father, James."

Patrick took another drink and paused a long while as if meditating on his response finally saying, "Sometimes I think I might…. Shadows and fragments mostly…. Nothing solid… Flickering images like candle flies more than memories." He admitted sounding as distant as his memories. "Were we close, my father and I?"

He considered the question finally answering, "I suppose in the matter of proximity, less so in thought and behavior."

"Cousin Violet says he was a cold man."

"They all are…fathers I mean…." He lifted his glass continuing, "Will we all be one day sitting stiffly at a table reacting as if numbed and half dead to the world around us. Is that our lot?"

Patrick was quiet for a time before offering, "Perhaps that is our burden. To carry on the legacy, sire sons, and drift into a kind of silent sadness."

"What a depressing notion," He replied without refuting Patrick's thought.

**.~.~.~.~.**

"Are you getting good milk daily?" Sophie asked interestedly as if Edith's daily nutrition intake was her keenest interest. It was, and Mary had counted this, her 30th pregnancy question. Apparently to Sophie pregnancy was a never ending fountain of fascination. Mary found her curiosity satisfied at question number two and she had focused with dazed attention.

She could of course cross the room; however Sybil and Rosamund were conversing on the topic of the growing vegetarian movement. That topic only made Mary long for an extra slice of duck merely so she could consume it in front of them. Thinking that might not end well she rose and crossed the room toward the window. Peering into the blue-black night she could make out the stars but little else. She could however see her husband's wheelchair and saw the lighted cigar of another figure standing nearby. Instinctively she pulled at the sleeve of her dress tugging it lower, feeling a sudden chill coming upon her.

**.~.~.~.~.**

The men had passed some time in silence. Richard always uneasy with prolonged contemplation broke the silence confessing, "Tonight left a bit of an aftertaste in my mouth."

It took Matthew a moment to respond. At last he did look up as if startled, but he keenly replied, "I am sorry about that." With a small smile he added cheerfully, "I will alert the cook."

Richard frowned demanding, "Is humor the refuge of the impotent."

"That, bad poetry, and poorly written romance novels." Matthew answered before inquiring, "What soured your mood?"

Richard took another long draw on his cigar, drawing the nicotine deeply into his lungs, finally exhaling the smoke. "Some may call me ruthless but I am a pragmatic man. To succeed as I have succeeded one must be a bit ruthless and bit cold. I suppose such qualities do not always appeal. But they have been the making of me." Matthew was not exactly certain how one responded to such commentary so he merely waited until Richard spoke again. "That room was one of romantics. Of men who still believe in the natural order and class and hierarchy." He shook his head continuing, "They look at a new world and merely try to press the shattered pieces back into the old patterns. But the glass is broken. The world they know will never be again. And you know it, and I know it but they don't know it." He glanced up as if expecting Matthew to dispute him but Matthew remained silent so Richard continued, "Their ignorance will be the death of all they claim to value."

Matthew remained silent for a moment before asking, "You think it as serious as that."

"I think I am putting it mildly, Richard replied flatly.

Matthew contemplated Richard's statement insisting coldly, "And you intend to gleefully watch as their estates tumble."

"Gleefully, really?" He answered sounding bemused by the notion. "I am not quite the villain you presume."

"You certainly give a convincing impression of one." Matthew retorted jutting his chin out.

"And you play the prig quite nicely," He rejoined evenly, "We all play to our strengths. However," He said gesturing causing his cigar ashes to drift downward, "We are men of the world, and we both know the world puts paid to romantics."

Matthew contemplated Carlisle's words before stating, "You can hardly call Garrett a romantic."

Richard's offered a thin lipped smile saying pleasantly, "Hardly. But he's not a practical man either."

"He saved many lives during the war."

"My newspapers gave him the proper praise." Richard agreed before adding, "But having met him…."

"You seem quite pessimistic about your dining companions." Matthew noted sounding blasé about the fact. "We are either liars, romantics or not to your taste."

Richard shook his head, "I am more curious than pessimistic." He waited expectantly for the prompting question he expected Matthew to ask. Instead he sat staring determinedly ahead. Sighing he continued on, "I wonder about these men…about how they intend to plan and finance their future, what plans and adjustments they have made or left unmade."

Matthew lifted his brow noting; "Now you sound like a romantic."

"Hardly," Richard demurred before adding, "But I wonder if you don't ask the same questions."

"Me?" Matthew declared confounded by the mere idea of such questions. "Why ever would I wonder?"

Richard recognizing the spark of interest beneath the dismissal recalled, "Mary once mentioned you were something of a hand in wills and estates."

"The bread and butter of any solicitor," Matthew admitted off handedly.

"Well perhaps it might interest you to look into the bread and butter of the Duke's estate, the good doctor's for that matter."

Matthew balked at the idea of prying questioning, "Why would I do that?"

"Curiosity," Richard suggested bluntly. As he spoke both the idea and his excitement ballooned expansively inside Richard; becoming a great deal more than mere seconds before.

"Looking for what precisely?"

Richard smiled thinly, "I expect an educated man like yourself will know soon enough what he's found." Without saying another word Richard turned on his heel and back toward the house. Matthew listened to his steps growing fainter as he neared the house.

**.~.~.~.~.**

"I do apologize," Garrett offered hurrying down the hall and toward the door. "The patient's welfare must supersede my pleasure."

"We understand," Sybil said following him, gesturing to Thomas to fetch his coat.

He nodded saying, "Of course you do. " He paused before admitting, "I am so accustomed to giving that excuse it comes out without a single thought."

"I'm sure I have given the same speech to my sisters and brother-in-law and Patrick too."

"The plague of our profession," He said lightly extending his arm into the sleeve Thomas had extended for his ease. His smile drooped, falling away as he said, "I am sorry if I over spoke at dinner." Sybil nodded causing him to add, "Of course your sentiment is admirable."

"But you believe my actions foolish."

"Not foolish, no. Perhaps," He offered softly, "Misguided. Rather like treating pneumonia with a glass of water."

"Well," Sybil said clearly taking offense. "I do…."

"Please don't misunderstand," He protested. "I do respect the impulse."

Sybil sighed, "I suppose that should be enough?"

"Isn't it?" He questioned frowning.

"No," Sybil said firmly. "It isn't." Seeing Thomas open the door for him she called, "Goodnight Dr. Garrett."

** .~.~.~.~.**

Shaking off the chill of the night, Sir Richard strolled down the hall. Seeing a shaft of light from a quiet room he stepped inside. Seeing the solitary individual standing before him caused him to take a breath. Her back was to him, as she studied the book titles arranged on the shelf. This is how a moth feels, he thought, drawn ever closer to the flame, wanting, yearning for the light, the draw as irresistible as the movement of the waves in the sea. She did not feel the same, he knew that of course. He supposed the polite thing, the right thing would be to withdraw but he had never worried about politeness, manners he had decided were the makings of weaker men. He had taken what he wanted all his days and he would go on taking until his last breath. That determination caused him to step forward calling to her by way of greeting… "Good evening Lady Mary."

He saw and silently cursed the slight jerk of her shoulders when she heard his voice. A twitch in the nature of a seizure, rather than the slight ripple of desire; he thought dismally. He wanted to bring Eros to her instead he brought fear, disdain.

Facing him she adopted the cold, disdainful expression he'd come to loathe, "Richard." Her tone was perfunctory and very cold a greeting, he thought, better suited to meeting a conqueror rather than welcoming a warrior home.

"I was speaking to your husband." He spoke in his steeliest voice.

Frowning at his words Mary answered with ill-disguised testiness, "I saw that."

"You seem to keep a careful eye on him." He observed before continuing, "His gaze seems more inconsistent." He felt his vigor rising.

Mary peered at him demanding, "What do you want?"

Richard smiled stretching out the silence between them. "I want nothing from you."

"Then why are you here?"

Again he smiled a thin lipped smile that she recalled him flashing at moments of triumph, "I think you know." He nearly whispered stepping closer to her. He stepped close enough to read the names on the spines and was surprised to see Lawrence buried beside Scott. The perfume of her scent filled his nostrils. How many times had he dreamed of burying his head in the crook of her neck, inhaling her aroma…A tame fantasy but one he could never convince himself she'd welcome. Still oh how he wanted….

"Richard?" A voice called and he heard a hiss of relief, uncertain if it was Mary's or his own and stepped back. He forced himself to turn toward the voice hearing his voice slightly strangled babbling excuses, "I was telling Lady Mary what a lovely evening I had."

Rosamund's eyes narrowed, her voice dubious as she suggested, "I believe the time has come for us to go."

He felt his head suddenly heavy falling into a nod, "Yes, yes." He agreed finding his voice, feeling the dissipation of his desire, "Quite. Good night Lady Mary." His steps were quick as he hurried from the room unwilling to hear the tone of her voice lest her tone give him hope or fill him with despair.

**.~.~.~.~.**

"Lady Edith," The Duke said fixing Edith with his warmest smile. "Please convey our thanks to Lady Mary and Mr. Crawley."

Edith nodded saying, "The pleasure is ours of course."

"I hope when you are back at Downton we can all visit again."

"We would like that very much."

The Duke nodded and seeing his wife had been helped into her coat said, "Good evening."

Sophie smiled at Edith reminding her, "You must let me visit again before the event. I'm frightfully curious to see…things."

Patrick and the Duke exchanged looks as Duke said, "Good Evening all."

Once the door had closed Edith smiled at her husband asking, "Did you have a nice conversation with the Duke?"

"A very illuminating one."

Rosamund came down the hall taking quick steps demanding, "My coat!"

Thomas reached for her fur holding it aloft and helping her into it as Sir Richard came hurrying down the hall. Thomas then reached for his coat as Rosamund explained, "We must be going."

"Shall I fetch Mary to say goodnight?" Edith asked seemingly befuddled by Rosamund's rush.

Her aunt glanced over at Richard saying, "Oh no we've made our goodbyes." Before Edwards could reach the door Rosamund had flung it open hurrying into the night,.

Richard said only, "Good night," hurrying after her.

Patrick turned to his wife saying, "Nothing like a quiet night at home."

Chuckling Edith turned toward the stairs saying,"I'm going to go up. Good night."

Patrick turned to face her watching her climbing the stairs with an inscrutable expression.

**.~.~.~.~.**

Wheeling himself inside Matthew felt a chill creeping from his head downward, and he was sure it couldn't be, but it felt as if it traveled the length of his body down to his toes. Of course if it was it was more of the blasted phantom pain. Of course… His jaw began clacking and his teeth ached from the cold. And the chill really did feel, though of course it could not….. He rolled hurriedly toward the library and the anticipated warmth of the fire. He'd hoped the fire and mercifully a strong cognac might dull the chill coursing the whole of his body.

Rolling into the room he saw Mary standing by the fire. The set of her posture alone told him something had upset her. "Mary?"

She spun around suddenly as if having been deeply startled. She took in his state in a single glance demanding, "What did he want with you?"

Not feeling particularly inclined to share the conversation Matthew opted for dullness. "Who?"

"You know very well who!" Mary snapped peevishly. "Sir Richard. What did he want!"

Even amid his chattering teeth and painful chill, which he really was increasingly certain went down to his toes; he recognized the anger in her words and question. "He wants us to work together or me to work for him I assssummmme." The chattering was truly getting worse.

"Dreadful idea!" Mary pronounced her face softening as she said, "And now you have a chill. You know the doctors warned you about the night air."

Hugging his arms together Matthew protested feebly, "I thought that was just for a time."

Shaking her head, presumably at his stupidity, she marched over to the closet reaching for a rug she'd seen Edwards retrieve from there one evening. Crossing back toward him she unfolded the rug standing before her husband she draped it over him blessedly covering him from feet to neck. "It's not enough you were outside for an eternity with him, but now you are chilled."

"Thank you."

"Very well then," She said crossing to the table which Edwards kept stocked with Matthew's favorite beverages. "Out with it," She insisted pouring a full glass. Taking a much needed sip she then crossed over to him. "However could you work with him?"

"I'm not entirely certain," He admitted between chattering interludes. She placed the tumbler close to his lips tipping it slightly so he could take a sip. The drink warmed him and he felt the chattering abate if only slightly. "I think he wants me to inspect some financial documents."

"Of course you refused."

Matthew shook his head insisting, "I think it might be better to keep our enemy close at hand."

Mary rolled her eyes pressing against the explosion now detonating in her temple. "Of all the strange ideas you have had…"

Matthew nodded sagely observing, "I am curious to see how matters will resolve themselves."

Lifting the glass Mary downed the rest of the Scotch before walking out of the room. Seeing Thomas waiting in the hall she called, "Mr. Crawley has a chill, please see to him." Without further words she walked down the hall unknowingly passing her sister.

**.~.~.~.~.**

"Mary?" Sybil called in concern. Her sister however lost in her own thoughts did not hear the call.

"She's got a bee in her bonnet." Patrick drawled from inside the morning room.

Sybil looked up saying in surprise, "I thought you had gone up already."

"Having a nightcap," He said holding his glass aloft.

Sybil arched her brow saying, "I could use one of those."

He nodded agreeably, "Pick your poison."

"Whatever you are having," She requested aimlessly.

Crossing to the bottle of Cognac he had liberated earlier from the cellar he lifted a glass of the cart and poured her a small amount. "Enough to warm you up but not keep you up," He said handing it to her as if presenting a gift.

"Thank you," She said taking the glass in the palms of her hands.

"I was surprised to see Dr. Garrett," He said flashing her a quick smile, "I thought he spent all his days inside that hospital."

"He is devoted to his work," Sybil allowed with a surprising firmness.

Crinkling his forehead Patrick speculated, "Are you fond of him, Sybil?"

"Not especially," She admitted frankly.

He nodded and took a sip of his drink before stating, "But he is fond of you."

"Is he?"

"Don't play the simpering ingénue." He snapped crossly.

"We're professionals."

Patrick rose to his feet saying, "You may be, he may not be…."

"I hardly think," She interjected her cheeks flaming red.

"You must think." He said decidedly. "Make sure you know what type of man he is…"

"You are the last person who should be telling me these things."

He nodded saying seriously, "Perhaps but that does not make it less true. Sybil," He said as if beginning another thought.

She shook her head and rose to her feet hurrying from the room, "No more!"

In her anger she ran past Matthew who was rolling from the library.

"Sybil wait!" Patrick cried rushing to the doorway as if eager to summon her back.

"Patrick?" Matthew called a question implicit in his tone.

Patrick looked down at the drink in his hand then retreated back into the morning room without comment, leaving Matthew alone in the hall with a perplexed expression on his face.

**.~.~.~.~.**

Across town in the family's London address Sophie changed into a nightdress and settled into bed. Resting her head back against the headboard she listened to the sounds of her husband dressing. The routine had become a kind of numb agony for her, petrifying her heart a little more each night. He would not come to her. She knew that now…she had known from very early in the marriage that for some reason her husband did not desire her on any but the most superficial of levels. And nights when she laid in the bed dressed for him, had slowly altered to nights when she dressed for bed and listened to hear the closing click of his dressing room door closing, hearing diminishing sounds of his footfalls disappearing down the corridor. And if she listened very carefully she could hear him walk out into the night. Where he went beyond that she did not know, though as the months wore on she grew ever more curious.

**.~.~.~.~.**

A half an hour later, Edith was sipping her evening glass of milk when she heard a single knock on her bedroom door, "Yes." She called turning to glance at the door. Patrick entered donned in a dressing gown and pajamas. "I thought you were Essie." She confessed taking another sip of milk.

"I sent her down," He said closing the door behind him. "I believe your sister wore her out. Mary she was in quite a stew," He said toying with the sash on his robe.

"Are you in a stew…about the Duke?" She asked carefully, her voice almost tremulous.

Patrick looked down chuckling lightly avowing, "No, no… It went as I expected."

"Is that good or bad?" She questioned placing her empty glass on the bureau.

"Neither I expect," He said walking over and taking the chair by the fire. "Did you know... He told me I didn't care for infants?"

Edith looked up smiling, "I knew."

"Oh," He said seemingly mollified by her words, "Well then…"

Edith lifted her glass saying, "I do know you Patrick."

He considered her words saying, "That is a comfort." Edith smiled feeling deeply flattered by his reassurance, and waiting for him to say more. Instead he turned studying the flames of the fire seemingly contended by the sight.

**.~.~.~.~.**

Essie came down the stairs seeing Edwards sitting by the fire.

"Has Lady Mary retired for the evening?"

"I believe so," She said slightly dubious. "She was mad as an old hen."

Scowling Edwards said, "Essie it will not do for you to be flippant about the people we serve."

She looked down her face scarlet, "I am sorry. I do not know what got into me sir."

"I believe I know," Edwards said, "Don't pick up habits from Thomas that could cost you your situation much less bring gossip on the family."

Essie shook her head quickly vowing, "Oh no sir. I wouldn't. I swear I wouldn't. I like the mistress, I truly do."

Edwards nodded saying, "I know you do."

"Is Thomas with Mr. Crawley?"

Shaking his head Edwards said, "He has taken the borrowed footman home."

"That was kind of 'im it was."

"That was kind of him," Edwards corrected in the mildest of tones.

"It was!" Essie agreed seemingly unaware that she had been corrected. "Especially it being so late and hall," She said glancing up at the clock which showed it near eleven.

"I would imagine he does not find the job onerous in the least." Edwards said taking a sip of his tea. "You go on I'll sit up in case Mr. Crawley requires further assistance."

**.~.~.~.~.**

Keeping the rug wrapped around him like a cocoon Matthew felt his body relaxing. The chattering had stopped, and the pain had lessened at least somewhat. Thomas had given him a draught, and Matthew felt himself in a state somewhere between wakefulness and sleep. Feeling pleasantly drowsy, and fearing his wife's mood, he had asked Thomas to remove his shoes and let him nap by the fire for a bit. Despite his fatigue Matthew kept replaying the scene in the hall…he had the sense something was amiss but he was not wholly sure just what was wrong. Feeling pulled under like a tide by the draught Matthew felt his eyes growing heavy, vowing he would figure things out in the morning. And watching the flames of the fire he felt himself drifting into sleep. When Thomas came home several hours later, in an excessively cheerful mood, he found Matthew deeply asleep, and from all appearances quite comfortable. Rather than wake him he adjusted the pull cord leaving it on Matthew's lap so he could ring if necessary. Then he too went off to bed as the clock struck one.

**.~.~.~.~.**

Waking in the blackness of night, Mary felt a chill. Spring seemed to be coming late that year, days had begun to turn warmer, but nights were chilly and Mary found she required a heavy blanket and the warmth of her husband to remain comfortable. She had become accustomed to crawling next to him, when she awoke, finding comfort as much in his nearness in the night as his welcome warmth. This night though Mary turned finding cool untouched blankets and the bed half-empty. Matthew's side evidently had not been slept in at all… Mary felt a pang of concern traverse her body, a tensing of muscles in her abdomen. She had assumed he would have come up later. She had been upset, but they rowed like an old married couple, arguing by day, twining together in the night. Surely he was not so angry…. Not that she thought, sitting up, that he had the slightest reason to be angry. She meanwhile had a Russian novel stuffed full of reasons…. Sliding her legs over the side she put her feet to the floor, hurriedly pulling on her dressing gown as she crossed to his dressing room.

The door was partly ajar illuminating a narrow band of light across the darkened room. Mary pushed it slowly open not eager to waken her husband if he had chosen to sleep in his dressing room. Even in the dim room Mary could see Matthew's pajamas and dressing gown laid across the bed. Foolish though it was she felt a shiver of relief. He had not turned from , the knowledge he had not come to bed, convinced her he had not left the library. Despite her entirely justified anger at him for this idiotic plan with Carlisle, the idea of her poor darling sleeping in an uncomfortable chair, likely stiff and most likely ill plagued her causing her to hurry from the room and down the darkened hall and finally down the stairs.

The old Mary she knew would have stomped right back to her bed allowing him to waken sore and stiff. She certainly would not have deigned to go after him, check on him, particularly when she was so furious at his actions. But that Mary had vanished, a casualty of the war, and the years when she lived in daily fear of receiving a telegram informing her of his death. She had thought, half expected the old her to revive once they were married. But she found quite the opposite that her concern for him, her desire for his happiness had become somehow quite central to her own. She chaffed at the thought but could not ignore its truth, even if she was angry at Matthew his concern had become her concern, his discomfort her own. She was not altogether comfortable with the thought, there still existed a part of her that rejected such bonds, believed her happiness could only be found in independence and dominance. Yet, her rationale side had accepted a simple truth…her happiness resided with Matthew Crawley. And the fact he had no title, that he was paralyzed, and could never offer her a position in society or a child things that should matter a great deal mattered not a whit. Matthew simply made her happy. All the rest was ornamentation…so as she entered the library she could not help smiling, feeling an endearing fondness at the mere sight of her husband deeply asleep. His head rested back against the back of the chair as a series of light snores emitted indicating how deeply asleep he was. Nothing about his posture suggested discomfort, which relieved Mary more than she supposed it ought.

Mary found herself captivated by the sight of her snoring husband feeling such an odd comfort in this small thing. Glancing down, however, she noticed, and it seemed awfully strange, that his left leg was stretched out seemingly having slipped under the footpad of his chair. The entire leg jutted out as if it had been straightened. Mary peered at it curiously for a moment, thinking it strange, but not contemplating much beyond that. She pulled the leg up which did not disturb his sleep and adjusted his blanket placing it more securely over the now in place leg.

Turning reluctantly she moved toward the door intending to return to her room. Pausing at the door she found the idea did not appeal to her in the slightest. Without Matthew, Mary knew that she would toss and turn the night away needing the steady rhythmic sounds of his sleep to lull her into her own, without the warmth of him next to her… If she could not have him next to her she could at least share the same room as her husband. Turning she crossed back to the sofa pulling the afghan covering the back down, using it to cover her. Adjusting the blankets and a placing a cushion under her head, Mary turned on her side the better to watch her husband. Resting as such she let the sight of her husband and the sounds of his steady breathing lull her into her own rest.

**.~.~.~.~.**


	29. Chapter 29

Many thanks for the reviews and pm's and encouragement I get to continue AVMA. It does always mean the world to me that people continue to support and visit this universe. Please do review and let me know what you think of this chapter.

**.~.~.~.~.**

After having spent the morning in court handling a petty theft case, and after consuming a delicious luncheon with the other junior partner, Matthew was glad enough to devote his afternoon to paperwork. Peter Simon had many strengths as a man of law, but he possessed an aversion to paperwork that made his clerks despair. Rather as a relic of his work in wills and industrial contracts or a quirk of his own nature Matthew found odd joy in tabulating accounts and maintaining ledgers. As such he had taken over much of the note taking and oversaw the firm's primary contracts. He had been tabulating a particularly lengthy account for the last quarter of an hour. The sound of a sudden quick knock caused him to glance upwards. "Come in," He called. Henderson crept in closing the door behind him informing Matthew, "A Reginald Swire is here to see you." There was a decided pique in his tone as he added, "He does not have an appointment."

"Reggie? How extraordinary," Matthew remarked reaching for his coat and hurriedly pulling it on. "Well I suppose you had better send him in."

Henderson nodded and walked the few steps to the door. Opening it he announced, "Mr. Reginald Swire."

Matthew rolled out from behind his desk sticking his hand out saying, "Reggie how pleasant to see you again."

"Matthew," Reggie said bending slightly to shake Matthew's hand. In his other hand he toted a cumbersome leather case that was greatly worn and dated back to his earliest days in work.

"Won't you have a seat?" Matthew requested and once Swire had done so he immediately added, "Would you like some tea?" Reggie shook his head causing Matthew to nod pointedly at Henderson who promptly retreated back to the reception area.

The sound of the door closing seemed to unloosen Swire's tongue causing him to confesss,"I came here on business."

Matthew nodded granting, "Of course."

"I am here at Sir Richard Carlisle's behest." Reggie shared shifting his position in the chair.

"I was not aware you were one of Mr. Carlisle's representatives."

"I'm not generally," Reggie admitted distractedly crossing his left leg atop his right. "I believe he brought me into his fold because of my connection to you."

"That would make sense." Matthew affirmed sighing.

Reggie uncrossed his leg admitting, "You do not seem terribly surprised."

"I suppose I'm not." Matthew acknowledged before asking, "So what does Sir Richard want?"

Reggie unstrapped his case and withdrew some documents. He placed them on Matthew's desk explaining, "Mr. Carlisle wishes you to review these documents."

"Sir Richard has any number of capable solicitors." Matthew pointed out adding, "I cannot imagine there is anything in this business they could not ably handle."

Reggie nodded agreeably, "I thought the same. But he especially wishes you to address these matters." As if to illustrate his point he passed a heavy envelope across the desk. "The documents pertain to…."

"A medical clinic," Matthew predicted without looking at the envelope.

Reggie nodded his head as if having an unasked question answered, "I take it then the documents are no surprise to you."

"I'm afraid not," Matthew admitted chuckling ruefully. "No Carlisle spoke to me about this issue at a dinner we held. I told him then I was not interested."

"He hopes you will rethink your position." Reginald's offered in the most stilted of tones. Once again he took to staring out the window seemingly unwilling to convey too much. "He asked me to request that you to do so. I suppose," He said uneasily, "He believes, I suppose, that your guilt over Lavinia will put you in my debt, and make you eager to accede to my request." Seeing Matthew about to speak he demurred, "I was charged with delivering the papers to you. Beyond that delivery, it is no business to me."

**.~.~.~.~.**

"Lady Sarah," Mary exclaimed in surprise rising to greet her visitor. "How very nice of you to come," She gestured for her guest to take the straight back chair opposite the sofa, before inquiring, "May I offer you tea?"

"Thank you yes." Sarah replied lowering herself onto the sofa.

Mary inclined her head toward her butler causing Edwards to step forward questioning, "Yes milady?"

"Tea please," Mary said straightening her skirt as she sat down.

"Of course milady." He answered nodding and quickly retreating down the hall.

Returning her attention to her guest Mary smilingly inquired, "What brings you here this afternoon?"

Sarah studied her for a moment before opening her bag and withdrawing a piece of stationary. After unfolding it she scanned the page only an instant before explaining the contents to Mary. "I've been asked to speak to a women's group on April 12th."

"I see." Mary said before asking, "Would you like me to accompany you?" This had become their routine of sorts and one Mary found herself surprisingly accustomed to.

Sarah looked up saying, No. I want you to deliver the speech."

**.~.~.~.~.**

"The case is more complex than you appear to realize," Garrett pronounced walking down the hall alongside a corpulent man.

"He is my son," Adam Guthrie drawled angrily. "I am very familiar with the complexity of the case."

Garrett started to speak but seemed to think better of it and instead mutely listened as Guthrie continued, "I want my boy well. And I refuse to sit by and watch you fritter away time and money if you are incapable of making him well. Why," He added almost angrily, "In my trade a man such as you would be drummed out of the profession."

Garrett was by this time well into his second year of treating John Guthrie and as such also into his second year addressing the father of said patient. He had long ago made measure of the elder Guthrie. Adam Guthrie was a man of large tastes. The night before he'd joined several businessmen for dinner. They'd consumed thick cuts of bloody steak, had smoked their way through two boxes of cigars, and imbibed several bottles of bourbon. The night was not atypical. Success had found him late and Adam Guthrie was apt to display its effect with what others considered a vulgar pride. He was fond of buttonholing members of his club demanding they tell him their worth. He held loud, courses long dinners, and no guest ate half as much as Guthrie. His waistline had ballooned along with his bank account. His gluttony so enormous as to seemingly require physical manifestation…. The Guthrie's had long labored in the shipping industry. The war had elevated the firm to an entirely different level. While other firms were floundering, aching owing to a lack of manpower, much of the Guthrie workforce remained in place protected by contracts with the army. Adam Guthrie had felt the war would lead only to ever heightened profits for his firm, had viewed it as such as merely an economic activity. It had therefore come as something of a shock when his own son enlisted. Still the boy had hardly ever done a thing to bring him pleasure so the decision to enlist was hardly novel. And admittedly, the move had demonstrated a gumption Adam thought far beyond the boy, as such he'd felt a twinge of pride at his decision. That had vanished though after the Battle of the Strait of Otranto. Adam had come home, much to his mother's relief, without a scratch. The Guthrie's had counted themselves lucky. A week later the butler found Adam in the bath, the water tinged red. That was the end to any luck they had. In the two years since he had watched pound after pound go toward the boy's care and seen little to nothing in return. Two times he'd come home only to return. Garrett seemingly incapable of affecting any real change in his boy.

"His mother and I have depended on you." Guthrie spat chewing on a half-gone cigar. "We thought you were the best."

Garrett spun around, "I've done my best, but I made you no promises. Shellshock is a new field and one I have limited experience in."

"That is obvious." Guthrie granted tensely. Sighing he huffed, "Three times. Three times. We have brought him to you."

Garrett nodded agreeing, "I do understand your frustration. I share them."

"I cannot imagine that you do." Guthrie swore angrily squeezing his hat between his meaty fingers."Is there not some medication, some treatment? In my field if one engine does not work, you find another."

Garrett opened his office door extending his arm indicating Adam should step inside. "I wish the human body and mind were as simple." Gesturing to the chair opposite his desk he said, "Do sit down."

"No… I cannot…." He said crossing his arms over his chest. "I do not need to waste conversation on you…again." Softening but slightly he added, "I came here to see my son."

Garrett barely raised his eyes, instead interlacing his fingers and observing, "I believe that would be a singularly bad notion."

"You've not allowed any of us to see him in well over a moth."

"True," Garrett agreed reaching for his pipe. "Understand that is not accidental."

"I have to wonder why…. "As if sensing his tactic was not bound to work he shifted arguments insisting, "Surely if no one else his mother."

Garrett tossed the match he used into the glass try atop his desk. Exhaling he shook his head saying, "I think not." Leaning slightly forward he said, "You must see that contact with your family always leads to negative actions on John's part."

Guthrie's face went instantly red as he bellowed defiantly, "Are you saying my family is bad for my son?"

Garrett contemplated the question for but a moment before snapping, "Yes."

** .~.~.~.~.**

Seeing Swire placing his hands on the arm rests to help propel himself upward Matthew quickly spoke requesting, "A moment if you will." Swire acquiesced with the slightest bob of his head. "I'm surprised that's all…. You working for Carlisle. Him sending you here…it's all a bit much."

Inclining his head Reginald admitted, "It was not my aim to be again associated with men like Richard Carlisle." He admitted bluntly. "But I suppose we are all under the pay of someone else."

"I suppose we are." Matthew admitted thinking of some of the cases he was handling at present. "But I didn't imagine you working for a man like that."

Reginald offered the briefest of half smiles before admitting, "I wonder if you knew me quiet as well as you imagine."

Matthew contemplated this only saying, "Perhaps I do not."

Seemingly surprised by his words Reginald admitted tiredly, "I've just found it easier not to bother much about the who or why." Punctuating his words with a sigh, he looked up as if anticipating censure.

Matthew eyed him a moment before saying, "A logical philosophy I suppose."

"One you don't entirely approve of, I imagine."

"Oh I don't know about that." Matthew replied. After a moment he added sounding circumspect rather than certain, "I am not entirely sure Carlisle however that is a man I want to bother with."

"Well I can understand…," Reginald agreed before continuing, "But truthfully I don't see much of a downside in this offer he's making. " Seeing Matthew's slightly dubious expression, Swire began explaining his point, "Best I can see Carlisle has no stake in this matter. He's acquired enough interest in the bank that owns the loans on Dr. Garrett's clinic and bought the note from one of Crowbourgh's creditors. He can brow beat em but that's about it. I don't see there's any risk for you."

"You'd say that wouldn't you?" Matthew challenged steepling his hands atop his chest.

"I suppose I would." Reggie agreed crossing his left leg over his right.

Matthew capped and uncapped his fountain pen, "Have you looked over these documents."

"I was told very clearly not to," Reginald admitted crossing one leg over another. "As you said he has others who can fulfil that task. I was merely a messenger. I am not very interesting to Mr. Carlisle." Reggie disclosed bluntly, "You apparently are."

"Only by association," He said without further explaining his comment.

Reggie rose stating, "Well I've done my duty. I leave the business with you to ignore or explore as you choose." He began walking toward the door, even touched the doorknob. But then he turned and paused finally saying, "It might be a good opportunity for you." Reggie said decidedly. "I know you've decided to be a barrister but we both know you've a mind for figures, and you understand good business principals. You can barrister to your heart's content and still lay aside a good living." Nodding as if closing the discussion he strode from the room.

Left alone in his office Matthew found himself staring at the thick envelope Swire had left behind with absorbing interest.

**.~.~.~.~.**

"It's not that I'm unwilling," Mary said pouring a cup of tea. Extending her arm she offered Sarah a cup. She then busied herself pouring a splash of milk and a lump of sugar into her tea. "It's simply that I've never delivered a speech."

Sarah regarded her with a cagey smile offering, "Well there's no way to learn other than to start."

"But it's your committee."

"I have a prior engagement on that date," She said lifting her cup to her lips. After blowing on the tea to cool it she took a sip. "It's an important group and a receptive one as well. A good place to cut your teeth on so as to speak."

"I'm certain it is…" Mary granted pausing for a moment to gather her thoughts. "Only I have never…"

"You've said that," Sarah pointed out coolly. Mary had always considered herself wholly in control of herself, but there were moments where Sarah Simon reminded her of Violet and in those moments she felt dispossessed. "I'd never given a speech until I gave one."

"I wouldn't even know how to go about preparing." Mary argued dismissing the notion.

"You've heard me give several speeches on war orphans and our work. That should give you a solid start." Sarah countered clearly considering what if any help she might provide. "I will copy out my notes for those speeches. Yes," She said decidedly, "That should give you a very fine start."

"But you see I haven't," Mary began then seemingly thinking better of her words said, "Only I hadn't planned on such a role."

Sarah sat back seemingly pondering Mary's words. At length she lifted her cup observing, "You are not that different than I was at your age."

"I wouldn't be so certain of that," Mary demurred.

"Oh I'm certain your father had a slightly grander title and certainly more money than mine, but I see other similarities."

Mildly intrigued by the theory Mary queried, "Such as…."

The slightest hint of a smile touched the corners of Sarah's lips as she said, "We were both high born and too intelligent to accept the way society worked. Yet both too conservative to actually buck the system…. " She cast her eyes toward Mary continuing, "I quite admire your sister's pluck but it would never have occurred to me to play such a role. And I imagine the same is true of you?"

There was a challenge in her question and Mary was surprised to find herself agreeing admitting, "I would not disagree with that statement."

Sarah's smile remained enigmatic, "I chose marriage, and then tried to make the best of it I could." Reaching for her cup she sipped contemplatively. Returning her cup to the saucer she added, "And we both married middle class men with brains enough we hoped it would lift them up." She glanced over at Mary almost defiantly as if daring her to disagree with her words.

"I know your husband slightly of course as a student through my son, now as a solicitor, through my husband. But knowing the man does not mean I know of him as a husband. Still," She stated decidedly, "I've seen enough to think him of a modern disposition. He'd not object to you using your wits for more than planning dreary teas and even more dreary dinner parties."

"I would think that's likely true" Mary acknowledged reaching for her tea.

"Then I'm afraid I cannot understand your hesitation." Sarah's firmness allowed no room for doubt. "You are far too smart to waste your days in vague pursuits with nothing more taxing than dinner parties." Sarah turned eyeing Mary sharply as if evaluating her own judgment. "Or have I misread you." She eyed Mary in open curiosity, seemingly daring her to disagree.

"Perhaps not misread but I think you believe me more displeased than I am." Mary said offering, "I'm happy with my husband and our life here."

"As well you should be." Sarah agreed taking a sip of her tea. "But such contentment hardly precludes you from having some teas and making a few speeches."

Mary folded and unfolded her hands saying, "I am not a reformer."

Sarah smiled over her tea cup taking a sip before challenging, "Does that mean you never were or believe you never shall be."

Finding herself muddled by Sarah's line of thought Mary admitted, "I suppose I always have been but never in the way you might imagine."

"So you like to complain about society but not involve yourself."

Mary considered this before acknowledging, "I suppose I have." She studied her guest carefully as if defying her guest to remark on her choice.

"You need not feel badly."

"I don't." Mary insisted rather too quickly and certainly to be quite believed.

Sarah took another sip then took her time placing the cup back on the saucer and placing it on the table beside her chair. Mary thought it a stalling tactic as if the older woman wished to take her time about answering or perhaps just how to reply. "When Pete….when my son was alive I went to these teas and events and I said all the right words. No one darned more socks for the Boers or who hosted more afternoon discussion groups focused on important issues…." She shook her head as if mildly angered by even the memory. "I was very good at playing the part but it didn't interest me. Not really," She said frowning. "I was to involved in the romance of motherhood." Her features softened and she seemed almost nostalgic. "Peter was my entire world. And the world itself could not compete. Then," She said her features drooping and her voice growing softer, "My world was shattered. And now," She continued regretfully, "I am left with only this world…a world he died for." She paused reaching for her tea taking a long meditative sip before continuing, "Now I have an investment, whereas before I only had the vaguest interest."

"And that is certainly admirable."

"I wonder," Sarah said her gaze boring into Mary unsettling her further. "If you may travel such a road as well."

"I am afraid I don't have the slightest clue what you mean."

"I don't wish to be indelicate," Sarah said stiffening slightly, "But will you and Matthew be….?"

Mary stared at her unsure what she was being asked. Inferring Sarah's meaning Mary felt her skin flush and her voice dropped even as she said, "I do not expect Matthew and I will be anything but Uncle and Aunt."Thinking the question a gross intrustion into her privacy and her marriage Mary assumed nothing more could be asked.

Alas, she was mistaken for Sarah said quietly but firmly, "Then perhaps you too must invest in the world. If you are not to mother sons or daughters perhaps you must expend such energies on society as a whole."

Mary stared at her finding her thoughts confused by the concept, yet not wholly able to dismiss the theory.

**.~.~.~.~.**

"I won't see him! I won't." Sybil could hear John Gutherie's agitated voice well before she opened the door to his room. "Tell him to go! Just make him go away!" He stated insistently to the nurse standing before him trying to calm him.

"Thank you Sister," Sybil said closing the door behind her. "I will see to Mr. Guthrie."

The nurse mutely nodded and turned exiting the room. "I won't see him! I won't!" John promised fretfully.

"Do sit down." Sybil said matter of factly. "Sit down right away and I'll see to your temperature. It must be up as you've been fussing so…More than the babies I tended to during my training." She spoke calmly and continued talking as she guided him to the bed and then covered him with blankets. Pulling a thermometer from her smock she plucked it into his mouth cutting off further conversation. "Letting yourself get upset over this…very childish and not what I'd expect."

"You haven't met him," John declared stubbornly around the thermometer. As if anticipating her next comment he admonished, "And please don't tell me he's a lovely person." His voice dropped to a near feminine sound which Sybil thought an odd approximation of her voice. Seemingly depleted he shrank down under the bedcovers inquiring, "Why is he here?"

"What a stupid question," Sybil snapped adding, "He's your father."

"He's been that for years," Guthrie said plainly. "It's never forced him to provide me much time and what he did provide….."

"Well he's here now."

Rolling his eyes John said, "He's here to check in on his investment." Thoughtlessly he tossed off his belief saying, "I've been a commodity to him since birth."

"A commodity he's checking on," Sybil pointed out firmly.

"Oh yes," He agreed tiredly. "You see a businessman like my father believes in keeping a close eye on all possessions."

"I think all father's believe in that practice." Sybil said adding softly, "We are their most precious possessions after all."

John looked up at her an odd smile crossing his face as he observed,"You think families are great things, I suppose sometimes they are." He allowed briefly before continuing, "But sometimes they are poisonous. Mine has more snake venom than in all of India."

"You must be exaggerating." Sybil said gently.

"I'm not." He insisted firmly. "And I'd bet if you really looked at yours, you'd see a cobra coiled there as well." There was a certainty in his tone that brokered no opposition.

**.~.~.~.~.**

Mary rose crossing to the opposite side of the room, busying herself for no obvious purpose. After a time she turned facing Sarah saying, "Well you have certainly surprised me."

"I think I've done rather more than that," Sarah observed uneasily, "I believe I've troubled you and that was never my intention."

"You must know the things you speak of are so foreign to me." Mary admitted continuing her thought she added, "The things you dismiss thedinners, the mindless teas… Those were the very things I was reared to consider essential."

"I did not mean to offend."

"Of course you did not…and I am not offended…."

"Then what troubles you?"

Mary turned slowly strolling back toward the sofa. Lowering herself down on the cushions she said, "I suppose I am confused."

"And why is that?"

"The things you say…I knew there were people like Sybil…women like you…but I've never seen myself as that sort."

"And how do you see yourself?"

"I suppose I don't quite know that just yet." Mary admitted glancing down at her hands. "I always assumed…. I thought I would do the very things you dismiss… I thought happiness would be marrying a certain type of man, and doing the things my mother brought me up to do."

"You certainly chose a different path if that was your aim."

Mary continued glancing down twisting her wedding band as she spoke, "I did not give itmuch thought really. Marrying my husband…. It felt right. I knew we'd get on and…"

"Haxby was your alternative." Mary glanced up eyes blazing. "Carlisle documented every stage in your relationship." Her tone was utterly matter of fact.

Mary chuckled remembering the clippings Richard had enclosed to her, "So he did."

"He's an odious man." Sarah offered supportively.

"Not always." Mary said surprising herself. "But I don't think we would have gotten on well together."

"And you and Matthew?"

"Wonderfully well," Mary admitted feeling an odd pleasure at the realization. The rush to the alter had carried such risks and yet thus far it had brought happiness beyond what she could have hoped….

"Then I suppose now you must decide which life you want for yourself." Sarah said regarding Mary interestedly. "If teas and dinners are to be your choice."

"Or speeches and the like." Mary finished the sentence reaching for her tea.

Sarah likewise lifted her cup saying, "The choice is yours."

"I suppose it is." Mary agreed uneasily.

"Why don't you view this speech as something in the nature of an examination? Deliver it and decide if you'd like to continue along that line."

Mary tried to think of an objection, thinking of none she merely sipped her tea and steered the conversation toward safer waters.

**.~.~.~.~.**

Perhaps due to his temperament, perhaps due to the subject and its nearness to his heart… whatever the cause Adam Guthrie could not disguise his anger. He face went red and became tinged to the hue of a cherry. His jowls shook as he shouted and his finger habitually shook as he pointed it at the subject of his rage.

At present he was jabbing said finger in Garrett's face. Stumbling to his feat he continued pointing promising, "I could cut you off." Adam swore angrily. "I could remove my son from your clinic."

Garrett nodded accepting the essential truth in his comments. "You certainly could." He kept his tone even predicting, "But we both know you will not."

"Why won't I?" Adam demanded stepping closer to the desk, his gaze boring into Garrett.

For his part Garret remained seated, silent and seemingly contemplative, "You care about your son." He stated flatly. "I know you think that as a weakness but it is true. You want him well."

"And you think that makes me beholden to you."

"No," He said before adding, "But I do believe it makes you realize that my judgment might bear some weight." Leaning back in his chair he explained, "Your son has never tried to harm himself while under my care. It's only when you get him back home that the trouble begins."

Adam Guthrie regarded the doctor for a moment before he felt his knees weakening as he sunk silently down the chair, a far smaller man than mere moments before. "You are saying we caused this?" He shook his head, "We did…we did nothing."

"The war did this." Garrett said removing his pipe. "We are just trying to repair the damage."

The anger seemed to have drained out of Afam and he said, "And you think our family makes it worse."

"I believe John thinks it does, and frankly in this equation he is all I'm concerned over."

Adam dropped his head dejection evident even in the way he slumped in the chair. "I have to trust you then?"

"You must."

Guthrie shook his head saying, "I don't trust easily."

Garrett seemed unsurprised by this admission remarking, "In this way John is his father's son.

**.~.~.~.~.**

Matthew was trying to refocus himself on his ledgers when he heard the office door being pushed open and footfalls landing on the carpet.

"Good afternoon," Peter called cheerfully. "Busy at work I see."

"Just about," Matthew agreed realizing he had no idea what he had done for the past half hour. He seemed unable to focus, his attention forever drifting back to the envelope. Trying to disguise his state he queried, "Have you come to have a look at the books?"

"No, no, no," Peter sing sang his answer. "Oh no I happily leave such tasks to your most capable hands and your agile financial mind."

"I'm hardly of the mindset you seem to imagine." Matthew balked self-consciously. Matthew could never quite work out if Peter's mirth was truthful or rather part of his personality so ingrained that it bubbled out absent much thought or logic. There was a kind of casualness to Simon that Matthew envied even as he knew he would never have that tendency again. The trenches the odd cocktail of danger intermingled with mind numbing boredom seemed to have sapped any softness, much less impulsiveness from him. One did not go about plunging in amid fate and chance after you'd seen fate and chance murder countless men.

"Do not be shy, my boy." Peter avowed seriously. "I have taught myself to handle books and accounts, but you do it so effortlessly. That's a skill that will do you well no matter which side of the law you choose to pursue."

Matthew chuckled knowingly. "You think I might go back to wills and estates?"

"I think a lad of your abilities, with your mind for figures would do well to keep every avenue open." His tone was gentle as he continued offering, "Why not see what all the world offers?"

"I've wondered the same myself." Matthew conceded obliquely without bothering to explain his meaning.

"I telephoned my home a quarter of an hour ago." Peter stated matter of factly.

Surprised by the swift change of topic Matthew said, "I do hope nothing is the matter?"

"No, no…well no more than usual I suppose." Peter said his typical smile broadening ever so slightly. "Anyway my wife informed me she spoke to your wife an hour or so ago."

"Did she? "Matthew questioned casually. "Do you know what it regards?"

"Knowing Sarah," He said crossing one leg over the other with a hopeful smile, "She's probably planning some societal improvement scheme or the like. I assume she is wrangling your wife in that scheme."

"Oh I see." Matthew replied seemingly not finding the concept terribly engaging.

"Is that Mary's interest? Social causes and the like." Peter asked seemingly genuinely curious.

"I don't know really." Matthew admitted slightly abashed to realize he had no clue if it was her sort of thing at all. Mary had struck him as a critic of society but he had never worked out if such criticisms indicated an actual desire to affect change. His mother and Sybil seemed the standard bearers of such interests, Mary had never struck him as such.

"Well don't bother to much," Peter spoke with a jolliness that Matthew envied. "Working with my wife will help her sort out if she does or not. " He smiled sitting forward slightly acknowledging, "Sarah really is marvelous at those things. I thought well, I was afraid after Peter that might be gone too." He paused looking haunted for a moment before continuing, "But I believe she's finding her way back to it."

"Is it so easy?" Matthew asked feeling instantly regretful for his dismissive tone. "I do apologize… I'm so very cynical now. But I shouldn't…."

"It's quite alright my boy," Peter said meeting his gaze. "You have every right to be cynical. And I suppose I do sound naïve. It's only what other hope do I have." Matthew made no response and the room grew silent. "It's harder than you imagine being a husband over a lifetime. Easy enough early on but later it grows more complex. Women change and you find the young sweetheart becomes rather someone else…"

"Of course," Matthew's replied his words sounding very slightly mollified, when in fact he just found the topic terribly awkward. "I suppose….

Peter looked down and his usual ebullience seemed to be fading. Thinking a change in topic badly needed Matthew interjected. "I had a visitor this morning." Seeing Peter glance up seemingly engaged by his words Matthew continued saying, "Reginald Swire."

Peter crossed his legs admitting, "I suppose I could sit here and pretend I am not aware you were to marry his daughter." Seeing the slightest surprise in Matthew's expression he added, "Even the best kept secrets are poorly hidden."

"I suppose," Matthew granted uneasily. He had clung to the idea of the secrecy of the thing to pass over any guilt. Leaning back in his chair Matthew confided, "Carlisle sent him as some sort of welcome committee."

"I do wonder why he'd use Swire for that sort of thing." Peter shook his head as if trying to work out a particularly vexing cross word. "It's not really Carlisle's sort of thing. He's usually spear the enemy sort."

"I was a bit surprised myself."

"Whatever do you think Carisle wants from you?" Peter asked suddenly deeply engaged in the conversation.

"My assistance he says," Matthew drummed his finger atop the envelope. "I believe he wants to rake some mud over some well-known figures….as well as some personal interest."

"And does that interest you?" The neutrality of the question as always struck Matthew. The elders he'd known Reggie, his mother, Robert always sought to impose their views, Peter rarely did. His profession made him adaptable to almost any avenue of decision.

Having spent the better part of an hour contemplating that very question Matthew found himself no closer to an answer. "I'm not entirely certain." He sounded almost abashed as he acknowledged, "You might think me a bit mad but I find the concept more interesting than I'd expect."

"I don't think curiosity is a sign of madness." Peter said thoughtfully. "Both of us chose a profession allowing us to indulge in curiosity. It's a poor barrister or solicitor who isn't curious."

"I suppose," Matthew agreed accepting the truth in the analogy. "Still, there are risks in dabbling with the likes of Carlisle."

"There are risks in any endeavor."

"True," Matthew acquiesced evenly. "And I welcome a challenge. Carlisle would certainly provide that."

"You seem to only have positive reasons to accept the offer."

Matthew looked up disagreeing, "Only if I ignore the voice in my head screaming that this is a terrible idea."

**.~.~.~.~.**

The issue of war orphans is among Britain's most pressing issues. Mary read the sentence before crossing it out and beginning again. It is imperative for every responsible subject to concern themselves with the war orphan crisis. She reread it twice then angrily balled the paper up lobbing it across the room and slumping back against her chair in utter defeat. She had heard many speeches, had sat by when Lady Sarah delivered dozens on the topic of war orphans, yet she seemed incapable of crafting even a half-decent opening line. All those dinner parties, she had had such pithy remarks and yet now each line seeming more false than the last. Sighing she steeled herself to begin again, however before she could do she heard footsteps and turned expectantly.

Patrick strode in offering a distracted greeting before inquiring, "Is Matthew home yet?"

Mary fought the urge to roll her eyes several times. "He's at the office." It had taken her mere days to become accustomed to her husband's schedule, and as such she thought poorly of anyone so unobservant as to fail to do the same.

"Of course, of course." He agreed. "And what time does he return generally?" The question like the previous one seemed by turns distracted and confounded.

"Six."

"I see." He lowered himself to sit on the arm of the sofa. "I don't suppose he could spare me an hour or so this evening?"

Mary turned from her notes giving him her entire attention demanding, "Whatever for?"

"I could use his expertise." Patrick stated disclosing, "Robert sent me a letter. Apparently, he wants me to find a curate for the parish."

"What happened to him?"

"He's an older man; Robert thinks we need a contingency plan. For afterwards…" He explained awkwardly.

"Do you suppose we really need one?" Mary asked leaning back in the chair.

"What?" Patrick sputtered sounding surprised by her words. "I thought you and Matthew were churchgoers." He said as if searching for a rationale for her words.

"We are of course," Mary granted before continuing, "But that doesn't mean I see that as a sustainable practice."

"You are calling for change?" Patrick sounded very mildly amused. "I suppose marriage does change one."

"Just because I don't march around, and give up meat, and call for the vote, does not mean I am a slave to tradition." She said finding herself surprising agitated by his statement.

"I never assumed you were."

Feeling only slightly mollified Mary asked, "What sort of curate does Papa want?"

"Socially conservative, wedded to the old ways, willing to hold up the aristocracy."

"Expected," Mary clucked disappointedly. "And have you located such a candidate?"

"Several." He said adding thoughtfully, "It is surprising how prevalent conservatism is among the clergy."

"Hardly," Mary demurred adding, "They know who butters their bread."

"And I suppose you'd favor a more progressive candidate?"

Mary seemingly taken aback at his words said, "I have not given the matter the slightest thought."

"Really?" He questioned seemingly surprised. "But it's your home."

"It's your home," Mary dismissed the comment as if waving away a pesky fly. "You and my sister's..."

"Well of course," He granted before adding, "But its large enough for all of us."

Mary's lips dipped lower causing her to ask, "Whatever can you mean?"

Seemingly confused by her question Patrick sputtered, "Oh well you see….I always assumed one day after he'd settled a bit…built himself up a bit…well I thought you and Matthew and Sybil would come home. "

Mary barely considered his words before saying resolutely, "I hardly think so."

"Why ever not?" There was something of a demand in his question.

An odd look of pique crossed Mary's face for a fleeting instant but she pushed it away offering, "Matthew's career is here."

"He could easily get a position in Ripon. Harvile…."

"Yes he could." Mary agreed rather more evenly than was her tendency. "But I'm not certain that would really make him happy. Given his….condition." She said refusing to stumble on the term. "Matthew needs to feel he has value and worth outside of the family. I think he can find that here."

"But after some time surely…" He seemed to be clutching at any possibility.

"I rather think not. Isobel is here and of course that links us further. Sybil as well," She looked up meeting his gaze not unsympathetically, "So as you see it seems for the foreseeable future it seems decided that we shall remain here."

"I see," Patrick agreed seemingly lost in his own thoughts a perplexed expression crossing her face.

**.~.~.~.~.**

Strolling tiredly down the hall Garrett nodded at the nurses he passed before turning and opening the door to a patient room. The shades had been drawn in Guthrie's room and in the shadows Garrett recognized his patient clearly slumbering. Seeing a figure seated by the bed he lifted his first finger and pointed toward himself as he backed out of the room. Once Sybil had followed him out into the hall he asked, "Did he require a draught?"

Sybil nodded saying, "Today was very trying."

Garrett offered a perfunctory nod saying, "I pushed his father off but just…. "

"That was good of you." She said smiling up at him.

"It was professional. Guthrie seeing his father would impede his recovery."

Sybil frowned inquiring, "Is that the only reason you did it?"

"Of course," He stated flatly. "Whatever reason would motivate me?"

"None I suppose." Sybil said.

"Shall we make rounds? I'd like to see how Avers' wound is faring." Turning on his heel he waited until Sybil fell in step beside him before continuing to walk down the hall.

**.~.~.~.~.**

Mary had passed much of the afternoon seated at Matthew's desk fingers interlaced contemplating the task of delivering a speech. Springs ago she had blithely told Matthew she had political opinions without explaining them. Not a week later she had groaned at her Granny's statement that a woman should have her husband's political opinions… She had even bragged Matthew might serve in high office. All that seemed so long, long ago…And certainly she had political views but she had never, ever thought of getting up and delivering a speech about her thoughts. Such antics were more Sybil's province. She preferred making witty remarks at dinner parties. While admittedly delivering a speech on war orphans was hardly akin to joining Emily Davison for a day at the races… Still it was miles from the future Cora had envisioned. The one she had thought certain. That might be good or it might not be… Mary really couldn't say. Certainly she had complained enough about the waiting room, but she had never much considered if she might actually escape the limitations of that sphere. Stepping out of the room had attractions and perils, she was certain of that, she might be ascending to a new life or tumbling from a precipice. Sybil, she knew, would fling herself out the door and at whatever dragons were to come…but Mary felt less certain. Pragmatism not progressivism dominated her world view. A mindset of acceptance and bargaining versus exploration colored her thinking… Touching her temples she felt a pain massing there…. She had a sudden appreciation for the sudden sighs that Matthew sometimes emitted while studying a particularly vexing brief. The thought of him caused her to smile rising from the desk she crossed the room and into the hall deciding to do the one thing that always calmed her.

**.~.~.~.~.**

"You are rather quiet," Edith observed as she adjusted her earring, watching her husband through the reflection in the looking glass. His invitation to dinner had been as unexpected as it was welcome and she was eager to look her very best for him.

"I suppose I am a bit," He admitted distractedly. He was seated on Edith's bed waiting while she dressed for an early dinner.

She lifted her brow asking, "Do you want to discuss it?"

He seemed to ponder her question for a moment before shaking his head. "I am simply adjusting to some new realities."

Edith watched him carefully before inquiring, "Perhaps we should stay in?"

He shook his head insisting, "No I couldn't face that."

Edith studied him silently finally saying, "Can you face just me?"

He frowned saying, "It will be us… from now on."

"Us and the little one." She said placing her hand atop her still flat stomach.

His lips curved upwards, "Yes of course. Him or her as well…" He paused a moment before saying, "I suppose as it is just to be us…perhaps we should begin finding out how it shall be with just the two of us."

Edith nodded careful to guard her emotions lest she reveal to much. "I think that sounds quite wonderful."

He gifted her a smile suggesting, "After your appointment with that pompous fool your father favors….I think we should go home."

Edith turned facing him. "Are you quite sure?"

He forced his lips upwards vowing, "Of course."

Edith rose and crossed the room resting her arms on her husband's shoulders and pressing her forehead against his. "I'll make you happy." She vowed earnestly. "I will make you happy."

In response he pulled her into his arms holding her tightly against his breast.

.~.~.~.~.

"Mr. Crawley," Henderson intoned in a mildly irked tone suggesting this was not his first utterance of the phrase.

"Uh yes," Matthew said finding himself mildly dazed.

"Lady Mary Crawley on the telephone," Henderson informed him utilizing the exalted tone he always adopted at the mere mention of his wife.

"Thank you Henderson," He said reaching for the telephone answering, "Mary."

"Hello darling," She replied warmly. "How has your day been?"

"Interesting," He answered thinking the comment a vast understatement. "Yours?"

The line was silent a long moment before Mary answered coolly, "Complex."

"Well, that does sound interesting." Matthew remarked finding himself smiling

"Hardly," Mary demurred admitting, "However I hardly called you to discuss my day."

Matthew found himself smiling as he asked," And what better reason could you have for calling?"

He could almost see her smile spreading, and he certainly could hear the mirth in her voice increasing as she replied. "To convey a bit of news… it seems we are to have the whole of the house to ourselves this evening."

"Really? Well that is a rare occurrence." He said adding, "And a very pleasant one."

"Indeed. Sybil is working, and Patrick has apparently decided to take Edith out to dinner." Mary said answering his question even before he could mold it into words.

Matthew smiled at the news saying, "And I am certain my wife wants me to take her out as well."

"Quite the opposite actually," Mary demurred explaining, "Your wife thought we could have a quiet domestic night." There was almost a feline purr of pleasure in her tone as she questioned, "Doesn't that sound nice?"

"As nice as nice can be." Matthew replied happily. "Shall I have Thomas stop for flowers or wine?"

"No just bring yourself." Mary said playfully, "And as quickly as you can."

Matthew felt himself smiling promising, "Within the hour."

"I will be waiting." Mary agreed happily. "With the wine…"

"Goodbye," He said returning the phone to the receiver. As he did so the envelope came back into his line of sight. Drumming his fingers atop the wood he contemplated matters. He could almost hear the echo of Mary's laugh, and yet the pull of curiosity about the envelope remained strong. "Henderson have my car brought around in a quarter of an hour," He said decidedly calling his assistant. He heard Henderson conveying the news before again turning to stare at the envelope. Reaching across his desk he lifted the letter opener from atop the desk. Then without further thought he sliced open the envelope withdrawing the papers within beginning to familiarize himself with the contents.

**.~.~.~.~.**


	30. Chapter 30

This chapter has been in my mind for a long long time but it took a long time to get right and there are some bits I'm still not satisfied with…But I hope you all enjoy it. And thank you so much for the reviews, the nudges to update etc. Please do let me know what you think of this chapter.

**.~.~.~.~.**

The tradesman had been admitted at the servant's entrance, and was then led down a narrow corridor to Mr. Carson's office. The old gentleman invited him to sit and offered him tea which he declined. "For some time," the butler declared in a stentorian tone, "I have been concerned to ward off an irregularity in the clocks at Downton." He pronounced the final word with a flourish as if speaking the moniker of an especially esteemed friend. "In the past our former footman Mr. Barrow saw to our clocks. But as he is now engaged at Grantham House we felt it prudent to telephone for assistance."

"I see," The man replied inquiring, "Well right then….How many clocks do you reckon you have?"

"I do not reckon anything." Carson retorted frowning at the mere thought. "There are 120 clocks."

The man whistled, "That many eh? That be a lot of time to keep track of eh?"

"Eh?" Carson shook his head replying, "The problem, at present, seems confined to a single clock in the lordship's study, he insists it is keeping improper time."

"Shall I start there then?"

"Indeed." Carson said raising his eyebrows. "That is just what I would think a repairman would do. Repair an improperly running clock." Rising he strode to the door opening it and gesturing to a man standing nearby, "Alfred show…"

"Edrich." The man said answering the question Carson had not quite posed.

Carson rolled his eyes stating, "The tradesman to his lordship's study." Turning away from the man he directed the butler insisting, "And you will of course remain in the study until the task is completed."

Alfred nodded agreeing, "Yes, Mr. Carson." He turned his attention to the workman, "If you will follow me."

"Eh." The man said rising and falling into step beside Alfred.

Carson watched them vanish down the hallway before swearing apparently to himself, "The youth!"

**.~.~.~.~.**

"I am never quite certain how I feel about spring," Lady Sarah Simon mused watching the Yorkshire countryside whirl past her through the automobile window. "It used to be such a lovely time, but now I feel it's something of a charade?"

"How so?" Peter asked keeping his focus directed at the road ahead and his tone determinedly neutral.

"Oh I don't know," She admitted fretting with the clasp on her handbag. "The blooms and sprouts…all the new beginning… I suppose it just feels all rather forced…" Shaking her head she advised, "Don't pay me any mind I'm rambling."

He reached over taking her hand, giving a gentle squeeze, "I shall always pay you the greatest attention." She squeezed his hand lightly before he withdrew it returning it to his lap. "I do know what you mean. It's all so different now."

"Yes."

Glancing down the lane the car was being propelled toward Peter questioned, "Did you ever stay in this house?"

Sarah considered the question for a moment before answering, "No I don't think so. You?"

He shook his head saying, "I think Peter came here once though."

A chuckle rumbled out of Sarah, but it was a hard sound absent any genuine mirth. "Ironic."

"Yes." He agreed softly as the car turned down a lane and a large Georgian manor came into view. The driver turned the car toward the house stopping only a short distance from the front door. Peter opened the door climbing out, dropping his bowler atop his head. The chauffer extended his hand assisting Sarah out, as an attendant donned in all white opened the front door and stepped out to greet them.

Peter cleared his throat before declaring, "We are Captain Peter Simons' parents."

The man nodded stating, "Yes, the doctor is expecting you."

"Lead on then," Peter assented resting his hand on his wife's back as if to propel her forward.

**.~.~.~.~.**

Pressing his toes down on the peddle Patrick felt the car accelerate and felt an accompanying smile crossing his face. God it was a miraculous thing… driving… Nothing he could imagine could top it! Mary could blather all she wanted about horses, cars were the thing. Nothing, nothing could top the high of pressing that little peddle and feeling the car jerk to life and increase speed. He loved the feel of his collar flapping in the breeze, the sight of the countryside rushing past him making him feel like he was inside a twirling children's top, the exhilaration of it bested anything he ever knew or thought he ever would know. Buying it had been impulsive, rash even he supposed but he could not bring himself to regret a thing that brought him such pleasure. Robert frowned on it, of course he did, but he disliked progress or change of any kind. And true Patrick had thought a lovely blue paint would be just the thing for a car, however he was finding the pale green paint just suited him. Even the license number EX1945 tickled him. He loved the car, indeed he did, and he knew well enough how very few things in life he loved. Certainly he did not love the task he was motoring toward. Robert had taken the fancy that he must engage with the farmers who would one day be his tenants. Patrick had assumed such contact could be limited to the annual Christmas baskets or the infrequent how do in the village. He saw little use in daily interaction with the laboring class. Oh Patrick had no prejudice against such men, but he held no fondness for them either. Perhaps it would be different if they discussed automobiles or engines or the like. The economics of farming made little sense to him. Hops, and turnips he understood not at all. One planted a field, one harvested the crops. The business had gone on for centuries and he saw little need for change. Worse still, Edith had taken a recent interest in pigs. Now she was urging the same on to him. As such he was to meet with a Mr. Drewe to discuss the rearing of pigs. Really the whole notion seemed ridiculous. True he did not have a memory, but he was certain if he did the notion of replacing a perfectly lovely small farm with a pack of squalling hogs would still make little sense to him. Of course, he thought ruefully very little about life made sense to him of late. Mary's declaration that she and Matthew planned on settling in London for the foreseeable future had cast him into the whirlwind. He felt himself on ever more perilous grounds, buffeted about with nothing steady or certain. Hadn't he assumed, relied on the idea that Matthew would remain at Downton. Need, gratitude…whatever the reason he had banked upon the probability that Matthew would assist him in running the place. Now that was not to be… And Sybil would stay with them. Her presence would be denied him to… Every succor save Edith and some unknown babe denied him. He felt his fingers clenching the wheel at the mere thought… Unloosening his hand he laid his palm along the side of the door drumming the tips of his fingers atop the green paint and driving on the countryside whirling past him.

**.~.~.~.~.**

Mary shuffled the pages in her hand nervously. Each page was clearly numbered; Matthew warned her seconds before a trial he'd once dropped all his papers, and she certainly did not desire such a calamity. The speech written and rewritten, an afternoon with Sybil hearing and offering suggestions, and a later afternoon with Isobel who also heard and offered suggestions. An additional afternoon had then been spent with Rosemund who shrewdly suggested trimming many of Sybil and Isobel's more strident arguments, to better suit the hats and tea crowd. Each of her advisors had volunteered to come and she had declined each offer. Now standing alone waiting to wade into that sea of domestic righteousness she questioned her decision. She felt confident in her delivery, even felt relatively assured of her message, certainly felt certain of her clothing. Still, it would feel pleasant to have someone to look to during her speech. "The vital need for support and love for children who have none…" Mary rehearsed the trickier bits of her speech. Matthew had made few suggestions other than urging her to opt for simplicity. His words went against Isobel and Sybil's calls for flourishes and emotions. "You are not emotional," Matthew had noted matter of factly, "You are logical and precise, play to those strengths." And she had followed his suggestions. Thus, there were no big moments or flourishes. Perhaps that made her confident during preparation, but at that moment it also made her nervous. She wished again that one of them would be outside in the chairs waiting, smiling, and encouraging her on.

"Lady Mary," A voice called summoning her. Mary looked up feeling slightly startled at the interruption. "It's time."

Mary forced a smile and followed the woman down the hall and into the large salon where dozens of women were seated. The room seemed eerily silent like a cathedral awaiting a grand ceremony. The hostess' introduction sounded like gibberish to Mary's ears and she moved forward only owing to the sound of applause. "Good afternoon," She began speaking in a careful, modulated tone, "It is a privilege to stand before you this afternoon to speak on a topic of such importance." She forced herself to look out at the crowd feeling ever slightly reassured by their smiles and evident interest. Then just as she was about to return to her speech she recognized one especially bright smile and found her own smile growing and growing. Amid the sea of ridiculous hats and middle classes dresses of British womanhood she saw a pair of piercing blue eyes and a dark blue suit and bright red tie and a brilliant smile that she only ever saw Matthew Crawley displayed for her benefit. Feeling buoyed by her husband's presence she continued confidently, "The plight of war orphans is indeed a subject that should tug at the heart of every concerned British citizen. Our government has given each of us the right to vote and as such we are charged with the responsibility of informing ourselves on topics of civic interest. And what topic can be of greater interest to us as wives, as mothers, as citizens than the plight of those innocents robbed of parents due to war?" She looked up and seeing the audience engaged and interested went on her confidence growing carrying her to the end of her speech.

.~.~.~.~.

"You in the trenches?" Edrich asked all the while unrolling his tool bag. He then removed each tool systematically lining them up in a straight row. He completed the task without evident focus suggesting it was a well-practiced routine. Alfred watched him reflecting that it reminded him of his own unpacking of the kitchen blades in the hotel where he had worked before coming to Downton.

"No." Alfred said slightly confounded by the question before asking, "Why?"

"The posture it's like the boys in the village when they came back from training. Like me brother." Alfred observed no obvious change in the boy's tone but his gaze seemed to drift a bit as if he was watching something just past his eye line.

"The recruiting officer said I was too tall." Alfred offered quietly with a trace of an apology in his tone. "And I was supporting my mother. And I was just seventeen."

Edrich nodded, "Were ye?"

Alfred replied by asking, "Were you in the Army?"

Edrich shook his head stating, "I'm only seventeen this year. Me brothers both went. The eldest Roy he was the and sons in the business. Came right up working with me dad. A born clockmaker…"

"I see." Alfred offered his curiousness checked by his sense. The and sons comment and the born clockmaker were clues the war had cut ribbons to both ideals.

"Went missing at Loos….Same day as Kiplings boy. Me ma always mentions that." He opened the clock, "And so I became the and sons…" His tone buoyed ever so slightly as he finished his sentence.

"You like clockwork?"

"Suppose… Couldn't face up to telling me dad another son wanted to go." He shrugged matter of factly. "Sides its interesting being in a place like this… Roy came here once with dad they both told us bout it." He glanced around him saying appreciatively. "Sounded real nice but still I couldn't imagine a place like this…"

Alfred nodded confiding, "My aunt is in service here. Brought me in… Says I've got a bright future here."

"Ya think so?" Again Alfred detected nothing beyond earnest cheerfulness in the question.

"I suppose."

"I was over at that Haxby Park," He said setting to work on removing the back from the clock. "Family's selling clocks and me and dad had to go over and tune em up. The estate agent told me dad its happening all across the country. He'd been an officer… with Roy's unit. I guess that made him take up time with our lot, talk to us you know…."

Glancing around to ensure none of the staff was about Alfred said, "What did he say?"

"Says more and more houses are folding up. Times are changing." He grinned up saying, "But I reckon that's nat'ral to a clock man." Edrich chuckled contentedly as he unscrewed the back of the clock lifting it and announcing with cheeky relish, "Eh see there. The belly of the beast!"

** .~.~.~.~.**

"This is Captain Simon's room." The attendant explained nudging the door open and stepping inside biding them to do the same. Natural light flowed into the room illuminating the space. Fresh flowers located on the bedside table and the bright blue paint on the walls all served to give the room a cheery feeling, until one's eyes fell upon the young man lying still in the bed located at the center of the room. Sarah's gaze must have followed his for she uttered a soft sob causing Peter to turn to the attendant requesting, "If we might have a moment."

The man nodded reassuringly before assenting,"Of course sir, I'll tell doctor you are here."

Sarah waited until she heard the click of the door closing before crossing the room and touching the man lying on the bed. "Hello my darling."

Peter came close on her heels greeting the patient with a half cry, "Hello my chap."

**.~.~.~.~.**

"Good afternoon Mr. Drew," Patrick called seeing Drew crossing the muddy yard to greet him. The small house looked neat enough, but the yard bore the remnants of the rain that fallen over the past fortnight.

Drewe eyed him skeptically questioning. "How can I help you?"

Patrick felt an instinctual nervousness spiking up in him, but fought against it forcing out a, "Well…I suppose the Earl spoke to you about my visit."

"Aye he did that." Drewe agreed wiping his hand on his trouser leg. "Said you were interested in talking pigs."

"Well yes," Patrick agreed uncertainly. "Or rather I suppose I am here so you might explain piggery to me."

"That so." He said narrowing his eyes slightly as if inspecting Patrick and seemingly finding him wanting.

There was a hardness in the expression that upended Patrick. He was accustomed to the farmers' deference to Robert. He had worked with men in war but his damned memory left him no reserves of that time to draw on. Best he decided to move forward without pretense so he began acknowledging, "I cannot pretend to know anything about the animals so I suppose I'm curious your views on the matter."

"Views on the matter," Drewe repeated dubiously before asking, "You mean you want to hear what I think of the trade."

Patrick removed his gloves depositing them in the pockets of his driving coat. "Well yes, I suppose, yes. That is what I think the Earl means you to do."

"Then I suppose that is what I must do, eh." Turning he began walking saying, "You best follow me then."

**.~.~.~.~.**

The head of the clinic's office was located in what Peter assumed was once the private library of a very wealthy land owner. And whereas the rest of the clinic downplayed the wealth and was styled toward utility, this office maintained the old room had ornate woodwork with intricate carving, heavy leather chairs, and shelf upon shelf of hard bound medical texts. Following the doctor inside the office Peter felt the usual trepidations; knowing that no good would come of the talk to come but feeling obligated to have the matter out none the less.

"Peter, young Peter that is," The doctor corrected needlessly, "Is in no pain." He took a seat in the leather chair behind the wooden desk.

"So far as you can tell," Peter insisted, his profession necessitated a level of skepticism and he found the trait useful in pursuing his son's care. Doctors, he had quickly learned, spoke with an authority they considered unassailable. As such he questioned every assumption they offered.

"Well yes," The doctor unbuttoned his coat with his meaty fingers. Never a surgeon, Peter decided with a quick glance at those hands. "But his respirations suggest no disturbance." He removed his glasses folding and unfolding them before saying, "I do not believe your son is in any physical pain… I do not believe he possess the abilities to process pain."

"Oatmeal," Peter stated seeing the doctor's perplexed expression. "One of your blunter comrades used the term to describe the state of my son's mind.

"How awful." The doctor clucked sympathetically.

"Is it really?" Peter asked reaching for his pipe. "On the whole I'd say rather kind. He wanted us to come to grips with the reality of our son's condition."

The doctor hesitated folding his glasses open. "I would not be so harsh," He insisted before granting, "I would however agree that your son's brain can no longer process or recognize pain." He placed the glasses on his desk and dug in his pocket for a cloth before continuing, "That may in his situation be a blessing. Were he able to feel pain…his physical discomfort would be considerable."

Peter met his eyes saying, "As it is his body lingers and his mother and I are offered no respite from the pain." He shook his head as if trying to make sense of a nonsensical puzzle. "Do you have a son?"

The doctor shook his head. "My wife and I have daughters. Three." He looked over at a framed photograph of the three girls. "I wanted a son. Always… Now… I suppose we are lucky."

"Yes." Peter agreed tonelessly before turning to the subject he felt that he must broach; "I must ask you a question. I am certain that I know the answer, but I need to ask you the question."

The doctor merely nodded, "Very well."

"Can anything be done?"

The doctor took his time considering how to best reassure the parent without encouraging useless hopes. "We will of course continue caring for him. We can clean his bandages, see to his physical needs, and ensure his care. Your son will never know either pain or want of care."

"But nothing can be done." It was a statement of fact, an acknowledgement that came out hard, despite his inclinations otherwise.

The doctor touched his tie admitting, "We can see to his physical needs but no we cannot…. Your son will never be as he was."

"Yes," Peter said leaning back against the chair and lighting his pipe. "That is what they told me last year, what I expect to be told for many more years."

**.~.~.~.~.**

After the polite but pleasant applause Mary sat down while the hostess made the closing remarks and then invited the ladies to tea and cakes in the solarium. Mary then shook at least a dozen hands before finally reaching her husband.

"I thought you had a very important case." Mary remarked recollecting his rationale for being up and off early that morning.

"I did," He agreed smiling easily. "Fortunately it was on the early dock leaving my afternoon quite free."

"And I told you that you did not need to come." Mary chided all the while beaming conveying her gratitude that he had not heeded her words.

"That you did." He granted evenly before passing over her concerns recalling, "But I imagined that was like the many times when I've insisted that I didn't want you to come and yet you always do."

"I hope you are not flattering yourself that had you not come I would have faltered." She considered it likely men like Papa would believe that very thing.

"Such a thought never crossed my mind." He avowed firmly stating, "I knew you would be brilliant and you were. I merely wanted to stand amid the sunlight of your triumph."

"I think that's a bit of an overstatement."

"Not in your husband's eyes."

The hostess drew up close to them saying, "Mr. Crawley you best be careful. With Lady Mary's talent for oration she might well decide to follow Lady Sybil's example and enter a profession." The woman laughed merrily saying, "There might be another Crawley in the legal profession."

"Then I had best be careful," He agreed adding, "For I fear she would be a fearsome opponent in chambers."

The hostess laughed causing Mary to reassure her husband, "I shall leave the legal profession entirely to my husband."

"Very well," The hostess said before suggesting, "We had best greet our guests lest their purses grow tight." She completed her sentence with a chuckle that was entirely to light and far too loud.

"Indeed," Mary agreed glancing apologetically at her husband.

"Go and politic over teacups and cucumber sandwiches." Matthew urged as he placed his hands atop the wheels of his chair. "Your hostess has offered me the use of her library for the afternoon. "I brought along my biography of Falcon. Meet, greet and when you are done I'm taking you out for an early and very extended dinner."

Mary flashed him a smile even as she turned greeting a well-wisher.

Watching her cross the room Matthew felt an unexpected pride settling down upon him. Not a pride rooted in her beauty, of her manners, or her being but instead a pride only in her skills and talent. Later, much later, he would understand that he was seeing the very beginning of something. At that moment, however, he knew only that he had witnessed in her a thing, a skill that he had never begun to imagine. And he found that new thing perhaps more wonderful than the other things he had long admired.

**.~.~.~.~.**

"So," Drewe said jerking his thumb in the direction of the muddy field. "I can clean that up a bit and it should work for the pigs."

"Do you know very much about raising pigs?"

"Wife's uncle was a pig man. He's going to come stay a bit to get us started. And what he can't tell I can write the government ministry about…"

"The Earl will certainly appreciate your adaptability."

Drewe's eyebrows lifted slightly as he questioned almost as a challenge, "Will he? It's never been my experience that the likes of him thought much at all about what I did, less it interfered in some way with his life."

Patrick stopped walking fixing Drewe with an intense focus noting, "Your family has farmed under the last two Earls have they not?"

"They have." Drewe agreed bobbing his head in agreement. "I'm not ungrateful for what the Earl has done for my family. Doesn't mean I am especially grateful either," He turned facing the eventual pig pen stating, "My old dad, and his dad and my great granddad all farmed this land. None of us dreamed of piggery. They were farmers."

"And a pig man is not a farmer." Patrick did not phrase it as a question. One could not hear the frank slightly callous way Drewe had spoken and have the slightest question at his words.

"A man who chooses to farms pigs is…a man who has another man tell him what to grow…." He shook his head, "But you din't come to hear me thoughts anymore I'd come to hear your thoughts on the fancy doings at the big house." **.~.~.~.~.**

"That should fix it." Edrich concluded smiling boyishly, clearly pleased at the job he had done. He closed the door carefully turning the latch. "She's a good one just needed a bit of care and attention. Like a woman,eh?" He said grinning up at Alfred.

"That what you provide?" Alfred asked trying without much success not to smirk.

"Eh." Edrich assented grinning; "Amongst many other things." Seeming to feel a need to ruminate on the idea he added, "Having a trade is always a use." Bending to his knee he began rolling his tool kit up. "City or town people always have clocks. And clocks always need mendin."

"That's why my aunt helped me get a place here." Alfred said agreeably. "Get me in a proper trade."

"And you like it here do you?" Edrich's question seemed guileless. And without conscious thought he quickly added a second query insisting, "Are you sure a bunch off toffs will always need someone to fetch them tea or whatever la de da you do?"

Alfred stiffened but maintained a civil tone inquiring, "Shall I assist you with your tools?"

**.~.~.~.~.**

"Your wife seems to be quite the success." A feminine voice observed warmly.

Matthew let his book drop to his lap and turned his wheelchair to face the voice. Smiling he greeted her, "Dutchess Crowbrough."

"Sophie please," She requested returning his smile. "I hope I am not intruding."

"Far from it," He reassured her flashing a quick smile. "Please let's sit and chat, if you have a moment."

"I confess I was hoping you did."

He gestured over to a chair across the room suggesting, "Shall we?"

"Thank you," She said crossing the room and taking a seat.

After rolling himself over Matthew said, "Mary didn't mention you were on the committee."

"I'm not actually I was just passing through London but a friend mentioned Lady Mary's speech and I thought I really ought to come."

"Oh?"

She glanced down at her gloved hands acknowledging, "I'm aware at our last meeting my husband was…not at his best."

Matthew did not deny her assertion instead observing, "Well dinner parties seldom bring out anyone's best."

"English dinner parties particularly," Sophie noted before adding, "American dinner parties are slightly better only slightly."

Matthew nodded saying, "Then I take it you are finding your sojourn amongst us challenging?"

"I would not go so far as that." Her reply seemingly careful and considered; as if it was a thing she had much considered.

"But not quite as you had expected."

She contemplated his words for but a moment before replying with a chuckle, "I suppose I could go that far."

"Give it some time," He urged seriously. "When I first came I found it all shocking and confounding."

"And you don't now?"

"Oh terribly so now and then," He admitted smiling; "But at times they, the Crawleys shine by comparison. I'm sure you will find your husband's family the same."

"I hope so," She said sounding rather dubious if this would occur. Shaking her head as if trying to shed her mood said, "But I didn't come to burden you with my issues, I've come to offer an invitation of sorts…"

"Oh?"

"My brother is coming from the states for a visit." Sophie explained her tone becoming far more cheerful than mere seconds before.

"Oh that will be nice for you."

"Yes," She agreed happily. "I've missed my family dreadfully… so I am looking forward to his visit. I was thinking we'd have a small weekend party."

"That sounds very nice."

"I was hoping you and Lady Mary would come." Without waiting for a response she implored hopefully, "You will both come? And Sybil? The weekend after next"

"Well you will have to consult my wife; her calendar is nearly as full as mine."

"Consult your wife on what?" Mary asked smiling as she approached them, "Hello…"

"Sophie," She put in before Mary could produce her title.

"Sophie," Mary demurred smiling.

"I must congratulate you, your speech was a great, great success." Sophie stated saying, "I foresee the start of a sparkling campaign."

Mary smiled thinly saying, "I fear you are more charmed than others."

"I think she is entirely correct." Matthew said firmly.

Offering him a warm smile Mary returned her attention to Sophie asking, "What were you asking my husband?"

"I've been beseeching your husband to convince you to come to weekend with us the weekend after next."

"Oh." Mary replied keeping her expression decidedly neutral.

"It's a small house party just yourselves, Sybil, and my husband and brother."

Mary smiled saying, "That does sound nice and of course we'll be pleased to join you and the Duke."

"That is will you be inviting Mary's other sister and her husband." Matthew inquired evenly. "I am sure you meant to did you not?"

Sophie smiled evenly, "Oh how stupid of me to forget them. Yes, yes of course. They will come won't they?"

"I'm certain they will," Mary answered glumly, fixing her husband with a displeased expression.

Matthew merely smiled and inquired after Sophie's family and acquaintances for the rest of their chat.

**.~.~.~.~.**

Edrich found himself struggling to keep up with Alfred's long strides as they walked out to his truck. He was a six footer but he judged Alfred to be a good three inches taller. Glancing at his legs and his stride distracted Edrich from his growing discomfort. "Here we are," Alred announced smoothly when they reached the truck. His expression displayed neither malice or anger only a pleasant smile as he handed over Edrich's second tool bag.

"Thank you," Edrich said before adding apologetically, "I did not mean anything earlier…bout your trade."

"None taken," Alfred said evenly.

Edrich smiled slightly admitting, "Me ma says my mouth runs like a sieve. I did not mean anything."

Alfred nodded saying, "I did not take any." The slight flush of his cheeks suggested it was only a half truth.

"Anyway the next time you are down at the Grantham Arms let me buy you a pint." He offered starting his truck.

"I'd like that."

"So would I ." He promised cranking the truck. Alfred stood back watching the truck jerk into motion and returned Edrich's aggressive wave. Then he turned facing the house and walked inside. Edrich watched him vanish in the mirror as he pulled away.

**.~.~.~.~.**

"I'd like to ask you something," Patrick said abruptly causing Drewe to stop. "And I'd ask you to be honest. I can assure you I need you to be honest and no ramification will occur for you being so." Drewe merely nodded causing Patrick tp plunge in questioning, "Am I different? What I mean," He said stumbling for his own meaning. "Before was I more knowledgeable… Not only about the pigs… Did I seem more aware…." He sighed feeling unable to ask the precise question, to find the exact words to gather the information he most needed.

Drewe removed his cap, raking his hand across his forehead before saying, "No."

"No," Patrick repeated dully half-hoping he had misinterpreted the man's words, that his question had been so poorly phrased as to encourage a half-considered answer.

"I don't think, with all respect," He said as if needing to maintain a certain deference, "You are not very different. Not at least in understanding the business."

"Oh," Patrick sighed feeling a bit deflated by the man's response.

Replacing his cap Drewe said, "I'm not saying you cannot learn. Maybe sir the fact you ask such a question, a question I've never heard one of your sort ask, means you can learn."

"I suppose," Patrick agreed dubiously.

"I should be going." Drewe said gesturing toward the pen.

"Yes, yes, go, go," Patrick said adding, "I'll just rest here a moment." He said leaning against the gate watching the pigs scurry around chasing each other in circles.

**.~.~.~.~.**

That evening just before the gong as Alfred was laying out the cutlery Carson approached him inquiring, "Did the workman see to the clock?"

"Eh he did." Alfred answered continuing to lay out the utensils by the Dowager Countess' usual place. He was always especially careful to inspect her silver. The tiniest smudge set her to howling as if he had set out some greasy paper for fish and chips.

"Eh?" Carson barked sounding almost nauseated by the word. "Eh? A footman at Downton does not eh."

"Yes Mr. Carson." Alfred adjusted his word choice answering, "He did. His lordship commented on it earlier saying the clock seems to be right on time."

"Good, good." Carson said nodding his head evidently satisfied by the news.

As Carson walked away he missed Alfred saying, "Eh," to himself and smiling at the phrase.

**.~.~.~.~.**

"Well," Matthew suggested virtually the second the waiter had taken their order. "Out with it."

Mary reached for her glass feigning confusion questioning, "Whatever are you referring to?"

"Clearly I have done something to arouse your ire. I suspect I even know what I have done."

Mary rolled her eyes stating, "Of course you know perfectly well what you've done."

Matthew took a sip of his wine saying, "Inviting your sister along on a country house weekend." He delivered his theory in the very archest of tones.

"I cannot imagine whatever came over your mind." Mary snapped sitting her glass down, having forgotten to take a sip, "The Duke hardly wants to entertain Edith."

"And Patrick?" Seeing Mary look in surprise at his response he added, "Weren't they supposedly the best of chums at university?"

Mary contemplated the question acknowledging only, "I suppose."

"Does it not seem a bit odd that they have spent so little time together since Patrick's return?"

"Not slightly," Mary demurred with a surprising firmness. "The Duke is a man of culture and beauty. I'm certain he is perfectly distressed at Patrick's situation."

"You mean revolted by his injuries."

"Well," Mary admitted shrugging dismissively.

Matthew frowned stating, "Much as someone might be disgusted by seeing a man in a chair."

"Don't be ridiculous," Mary insisted reaching, "My darling I'm not saying I agree. Truth be known lately I have observed that I have not noticed Patrick's bandages."

Matthew's frown dissipated and he stated, "I have noticed the same thing. It is odd."

"Not really," Mary said lifting her glass and noting ruefully, "I suppose it's a mechanism of the time we have spent with him. At first we of course only saw his wounds and injuries….but over time I suppose we came to see Patrick."

An odd smile crossed Matthew's face as he observed, "Careful darling I think you are becoming almost fond of your cousin."

"Hardly," Her objection was conveyed with a dubious expression. "I'm hardly as nice as that."

"You are a great deal nicer than you realize."

"Don't try and charm your way out of explaining your actions." She insisted demanding, "Why ever did you want Sophie to invite them. And," She said disappointedly, "Don't tell me you are worried about reestablishing Patrick's friendship with the Duke."

"No," He admitted frankly, "Nothing quite so noble as that."

"What then?"

Matthew took a long sip savoring the taste of the wine. At length he returned the glass to the table suggesting, Why don't we leave it as a surprise?"

"Matthew you know I hate surprises." Mary stated heatedly. "You must tell me."

"Not quite yet," He said but deciding it wise to keep her in a pleasant mood, "How about a compromise. I'll tell you when we come back from the weekend?"

Mary frowned acquiescing, "Is that your best offer?"

"My very best."

"Very well then," Mary granted obviously disappointed by the bargain.

Matthew smiled reaching for her hand. "Now then why don't we talk about your speech?"

Mary smiled questioning, "Did you like it truly?"

"Truly and absolutely," He vowed adding, "You were marvelous darling, simply marvelous. I think you have a knack for it, public speaking."

"Well of course you helped me so terribly much, you and Sybil and your mother. But I was rather good."

Her voice reflected a pure pleasure that caused Matthew to grin happily affirming, "Very good." He praised asking, "Do you think you'll do it again?"

Seemingly surprised Mary admitted, "I don't know. I only did it as a favor to Sarah, so I suppose it depends entirely on her wishes."

**.~.~.~.~.**

As the shadows descended and lengthened Sarah kept her gaze stubbornly fixated on her son. His chest rose and fell and rose again, and he emitted soft breaths at regular intervals. "I keep expecting him to wake up and call out to us," She confided turning to her husband.

Peter nodded agreeing, "I expect the same."

"What did the doctor say?"

"The same thing all the doctors say," He stated in short hard words that reeked of bitterness. "Peter is not in any pain, he doesn't know, he'll never wake up." He shook his head dismissively speculating, "I believe that we are to take comfort in such diagnosis."

"Yes," Sara agreed glancing over at him for only a moment before returning her gaze to her son. "The Humphries' son, you remember him?" Without waiting for a response she prodded, "He was at Eton with Peter. Flew an airplane."

An expression of dawning recognition crossed Peter's face. "Oh yes I remember him. He came to visit just before he went over."

"Yes," She agreed quietly, "He was smashed up."

"Not surprised." Peter replied matter of factly. "Life expectancy in France was days for those boys." He found since his son's accident he could speak of such men with a certain envy.

Sarah studied him for a moment before continuing, "He made it home. Or rather he didn't die." Peter turned facing her waiting for whatever news she had to deliver. "He's in a clinic in Buckinghamshire. His mother visited him recently. She came away quite distressed." She turned studying Peter quite intently. "The boy kept moaning apparently the wounds haven't left him unable to feel… The whole of her visit he just kept moaning." She paused continuing to study her son. "Perhaps we are lucky…"

"Perhaps," Peter agreed sounding uncertain.

A sudden shaft of light sliced through the room causing both Sarah and Peter to turn toward the open door. A sister in a habit said, "Excuse me but it's time for us to see to Captain Simon's nightly routines."

Peter rose to his feet saying, "Yes of course."

Following her husband's lead Sarah stood and walked over to the bed. She leaned forward lowering herself to near her boy, dropping her lips on his forehead. "Happy birthday, my darling." Then without turning back she turned and hurried from the room.

Peter stood in the corner watching the sleeping form for several moments. At length he forced himself to step forward. "My boy." He called in a shuddering breath. Then he too turned walking tiredly toward the door, where he turned as if expecting a voice to beckon him backwards. But there was only silence and so he turned and walked down the corridor toward the waiting car.

**.~.~.~.~.**

"Why do you think Lady Sarah asked you to speak?" Matthew inquired between bites of his peas. He'd ordered a meatless entrée which Mary thought odd but had chosen not to comment upon.

"She was vague, some sort of appointment."

"How mysterious." He replied returning his fork to his plate.

"Not entirely." Mary said adding, "I don't think she's mysterious. Or," She said reaching for her wine. "Not entirely anyway." She said taking a sip of her wine.

"What then?"

"I don't know really… Lost perhaps." Matthew nodded as if accepting this answer. The question though had aroused her interest causing her to inquire, "What was she like before…"

Matthew sat back slightly contemplating that time. "I'm not sure really." He admitted uneasily smiling self-consciously. "It feels a lifetime ago. And I never knew her well." After a moment he added only, "She seemed very kind. I think she was a mother who liked her son."

Mary tasted her wine before saying, "She paid for that."

Matthew nodded saying, "Don't we all pay for love in the end?"

A dozen images flickered in her mind Pamuk, her father, Matthew. "I suppose," She granted unwilling to delve too deeply into that thought.

"She was kind."

"She is kind."

"But she is different." He said clearly pondering the idea. "I suppose we all are." He smiled at her saying, "You certainly are." There was a cheerfulness to his tone as he admitted, "Why after today," He marveled proudly, "I do not know just how marvelous you might become."

"You think one speech makes me different?"

"One speech, four years of war, and almost one year of marriage. You are not the girl I met in a top hat and riding habit."

"I should hope not," She agreed brushing aside the thought noting disdainfully, "I'd hate to be that girl forever."

"Oh," I don't know," Matthew stated sounding a trace nostalgic, "I was quite fond of her."

She smiled at him finding her mind already wandering as she contemplated the meaning of his comment finally confessing, "I suppose I am different." Shrugging she noted, "How could we both not be different?"

He shrugged in agreement continuing to toy with his glass, rocking it from side to side. "I certainly am different." And as always when he mentioned such things a kind of melancholy would come down over it like an oppressive blanket.

"I didn't mean that," Mary insisted quickly eager to dispel any gloom.

"How could you not?" He asked adding, "I am and always will be marked by the war."

"Perhaps." Mary agreed interrupting his musings. "But perhaps we can learn to focus on the other side of the coin." He looked up waiting to hear her words. "You are here, you survived. As awful and terrible as it was you survived it. And here we are. Together. Married." She paused fearing she had said to much. "I believe that means a very great deal."

In response he reached across the table clasping her hand in his promising, "It does."

**.~.~.~.~.**

Toting two brandies Robert entered the small library. The room was dim and for a moment he imagined himself alone. Then a deep sight alerted him to the presence of another. "My boy!" He said with false enthusiasm. "You were just the very one I was looking for."

"Oh?" He said barely turning his attention from the flickering flames.

"Edith told me you visited Timothy Drewe."

Reaching for the brandy Patrick assented, "I did."

"And how did that go?" Robert asked hopefully. He had noticed a solemnness about the boy in the past weeks that had increasingly troubled him. Yet, he had been reluctant to press.

Patrick took a meditative sip of the brandy, before replying, "I don't quite know."

"Oh?" Robert said carefully masking the disappointment from his tone.

"I am afraid I know little of pigs and tenant farming."

"Well they have been good tenants." Robert said assuredly. "I do not understand this push."

"Matthew had concerns about the accounts."

Robert took a sip of his cognac saying, "Matthew worries over such things. He is cautious."

"Perhaps," Patrick acquiesced, "But he understands more than I do."

Robert scoffed stating, "I love Matthew but you are the heir. You and Edith will run Downton and I trust that future. You will do well my boy I have the greatest confidence in you." Rising he clasped a hand on Patrick's shoulder a gesture seemingly unknown to Patrick who had returned his attention to the fire.

**.~.~.~.~.**

Watching Thomas retreating down the darkened foyer Mary cheerfully announced, "We've had a very good day." She giggled slightly… The rush of the speech had passed, but the pleasure of dinner, and the slight buzz of the champagne, and their closeness had left her slightly giddy.

"You did." Matthew agreed smiling; he could not remember a day in years that he had smiled so much or so genuinely. Feeling more impulsive than usual he queried happily, "What shall we do to top it?"

"Hmmm…" Mary said feigning great contemplation. "Let me think…."

Accepting her words as an invitation Matthew suggested nimbly, "We could get out the gramophone."

"Perhaps." She agreed smiling.

"We could sit by the fire and….talk."

Recognizing the slight tease in his words Mary playfully replied, "We could. Or," She said mischievously, "We could just go to bed."

Upended by her words he stammered, "Uh….yeah…" Then fearing he'd misinterpreted her meaning he questioned**,** "Are you very tired?"

"Not at all." Mary replied leaning down and pushing a stray blonde strand from his forehead. "Not a bit…I'll just go up and change." She said turning and slowly walking up the steps. At the top step she turned chiding, "Don't take too long."

Matthew watched her go tugging on his collar which suddenly felt far too constricted.

**.~.~.~.~.**

The steam was evaporating but the bathroom remained toasty warm as Patrick buttoned his pajama shirt. Alfred stepped carefully around him gathering up the discarded bandages littered across the floor. Twice a week Sundays and Wednesdays generally, though not always, they reenacted this routine. Alfred would slowly unwrap the bandages that covered Patrick's face and head. Patrick would then wash his face and apply ointment to any potentially troublesome spots. Alfred would then carefully warp fresh bandages twining them round and round Patrick's head. The two men had honed the process performing it with such regularity that it took mere minutes. And while Patrick was grateful that Alfred used such times to carefully check him for infection or scratches a great part of him always longed to cover his face and hide himself. And the aftermath always left him feeling exposed, and terribly, terribly depressed. True he only knew the unwounded Patrick from sepia tinged photographs, never less he could imagine a life for that fellow. That man could love, and work, and marry, and sire children. The scarred remains that stared back at from the mirror could perform those tasks, but he could never quite manage to be the man Patrick glimpsed in those aging photographs.

"Will that be all sir?" Alfred asked collecting the last of the discarded bandages. Patrick did not feel up to talking indeed he could merely force his head to nod. "Well then I'll tidy up a bit."

Patrick reached for his dressing gown drawing it around his body like an additional coat and then pushed his feet into his slippers. He opened the door stepping into the hall, his steps more akin to a shuffle.

**.~.~.~.~.**

Understanding the difficulty the visit would certainly invoke, Peter and Sarah's hosts had accepted a dinner invitation that evening freeing the Simons from the agony of an evenings' etiquette. Instead, they had been hurried toward steaming baths, and guided toward empty rooms where they could stare at walls, or sip drinks, pray or curse, whatever action that they had to play out to regain the equilibrium that the Simons had to fashion around themselves like armor to get through all the days since their son's accident. Peter had sat in a hot tub for a quarter of a hour, sipping a brandy, and pressing his thumb against his closed eyes as if somehow the heat, the drink, and the pressure would force away the lingering image of his boy laying prostrate in a bed. The actions did not wholly eradicate the awful images and Peter had not expected them to… But the combination had dulled his mind, numbing the pain if only slightly. Stepping into his dressing room he found the room toasty owing to the roaring fire which snapped and crackled amid the silence of the room. He slipped on a pair of pajamas and a heavy dressing gown. Belting the gown he pushed his feet into carpeted slippers before crossing and knocking at his wife's adjoining door.

"Yes," Sarah answered neither beckoning nor rejecting his overture.

Opening the door he stepped inside seeing his wife staring listlessly at the mirror as if seeking some resolution in her reflection.

Shoving his hands into his dressing gown pockets Peter offered, "My man said the cook could prepare sandwiches or soup." Incapable of letting the silence continue he babbled on senselessly, "I said I was not hungry but if you are…" Peter recognized he was filling up the emptiness by burying himself in niceties. The more uncomfortable the situation, the more he retreated to over displays of manners and decorum.

Sarah glanced away from the mirror peering at him as if seeing a vision beyond any kind of comprehension before replying, "The maid brought me tea and biscuits. " She glanced over at the still heavily laden tray seeming to find it necessary to provide evidence of her attempt. "I wasn't hungry."

"I see." Peter agreed studying her uneasily. "My man brought up a bottle of brandy if you want something stronger."

She turned giving him a wan smile. "I think that would rather compound the problem."

"I suppose," He said crossing the room and taking a seat on the edge of the mattress. "Are you tired?"

"Exhausted," She admitted sighing, "Too tired to sleep, I suppose…" She confessed absently, "Today keeps swirling around my mind." She looked up at her husband in the prism of the mirror. "It's so necessary that we visit him, that I tell him of my love…I am eager to see he is always well cared for… Yet, seeing him now it always leaves me so confused," She admitted uneasily. "It feels like some conjuring trick of an evil magician. He is my son. I see my son. But somehow he is not my son. He's simply the corpse of my son." She shook her head castigating herself for the thought. "And if his mother feels that way….sees only the remains…" She turned from her reflection and focused her gaze on the floorboards.

"I feel the same." He admitted softly. "I see him and he looks like Peter. My mind knows he is Peter…but my heart…" He shakes his head sharing, "I keep remembering the night he was born. I was so very proud." The recollection causes his lips to twist into an almost smile. "A son. I had a son." His smile grew as the memory rolled up inside of him leaving him warmer, happier somehow than he had been in a very long while. "I thought no man could be as happy as I was that night." There was a touch of melancholy as if the memory of that first birthday and the latest had created a deep sadness that transcended even the brightest memories.

**.~.~.~.~.**

Mary had taken to changing in Matthew's dressing room. The action had begun for utilitarian reasons. It really was simpler for Thomas to help Matthew into pajamas and place him in bed before she entered the room. Lately she was realizing though how very much she liked the arrangement. She liked stepping into the room finding him relaxed and waiting for her. Taking a quick final look in the mirror Mary nodded satisfactorily at her reflection before turning and stepping into the bedroom. Matthew was reclining in bed crossing and then uncrossing his arms before expelling a nervous sigh. Mary struggled not to giggle at the sight. Nervous, she thought delightedly, she still made him nervous. Somehow that relieved her more than she might have imagined. Stepping into the room she smiled back at him wanting in some way to convey her own feelings, feeling her own pulse quickening at his returning smile. They did not exchange words as she crossed the room; he merely watched her movements smiling, uncertainly perhaps but seemingly happily. Reaching the bed she divested herself of her dressing gown laying it across the bed watching it fall mere inches from his. He lifted the covers and she climbed under muttering, "Thank you." All the while she felt the weight of Matthew's gaze upon her watching her movements and studying the way she tucked the covers around her and settled against the pillows. She followed this routine nightly, and yet Matthew always watched seemingly fascinated by her movements. She had discovered she relished the attention.

Seeming to feel a need to say something, Matthew spoke up confessing with a bashful dip of his head, "I was very proud of you today. Listening to you speak, seeing the way people responded. I kept thinking that's my wife."

"You never call me that." Mary exclaimed a delighted smile crossing her face as she tucked the sheets up around her.

Matthew studied her for a long moment before saying, "Perhaps…it's time I start."

Mary smiled, "I'd like that very much, very, very much." She assented happily.

"Maybe," He forced out determinedly. "It's time we start doing other things."

A mischievous smile crept across Mary's face as she asked playfully, "What sorts of things."

"All sorts of things." He suggested reaching up and caressing her cheek.

Her cheeks colored and she found herself breathless uttering, "Goodness whatever that means."

"Blushing," He observed the coloring of her cheeks exclaiming. "She still blushes. How wonderful!" He chuckled delightedly. "Well," He said thoughtfully clearly turning his mind to their earlier talk. "I suppose we'll have to work that out."

The heaviness and heat of his hand on her cheek felt almost overpowering and yet she did not want the sensation to ever end. She raised her hand covering the top of his hand with her palm. Twining her fingers alongside his she whispered, "Perhaps we should make a start."

Without conscious thought both of them leaned forward angling their heads and Mary could almost smell strawberries and taste wine as their lips lightly touched. Her free hand instinctively threaded through his hair, the other remained clasped alongside his seemingly anchoring them together. It was not the hungry kiss of the dining room all those years before. Instead it was hesitant almost faltering, and more gentle than either would have expected. And when their lips separated both were smiling.

**.~.~.~.~.**


End file.
